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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726224">written in the stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon'>FaultyParagon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RWBY Fair Game [30]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY, Transistor (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Transistor, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Fairgame, Former Military Qrow Branwen, Heartache, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Qrow Branwen Needs a Hug, Qrow Branwen-centric, Romance, Science Fiction, Singer Qrow Branwen, Tragedy, Transistor-style Story with RWBY Characters, Uncle Clover Ebi, Virtual Reality, although clover x getting stabbed is still apparently best ship, fair game, this will probably be the most Fair Game Fair Game fic i've written thus far, uncle Qrow - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:59:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>43,790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Qrow misses early morning rehearsals. He misses late-night takeout. He misses being able to throw his heart and soul into every single performance, for there was nothing stopping him from reaching the world every time he stepped on stage.</p><p>Now, he just misses seeing Clover. Hearing his voice through the Harbinger isn’t enough.</p><p>-aka the Transistor AU that’s been floating around in the back of my mind for a few months now, recently sparked into existence by my first taste of Hades. Qrow is Red, Clover is the Boxer, and they’re going to Patch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Qrow Branwen &amp; Clover Ebi &amp; Ruby Rose &amp; Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen &amp; Ozpin, Qrow Branwen &amp; Ruby Rose &amp; Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RWBY Fair Game [30]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I haven’t played this game since 2017 but ever since Hades trailers have been popping up, it’s been in the back of my mind. It will be canon-adjacent to the game, but shall focus on developing RWBY canon characters/relationships/dynamics. You know the drill- I’m tossing this here for now, but it shall be continued when inspiration strikes. At least this one is mostly planned out already for once. </p><p>Let me know what you think!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, you old crow,” the voice rasps, rueful yet stunned. “We’re… we’re not gonna get away with this, are we?”</p><p>His fingers- joints aching and sore, blistered and bruised, his regenerative Aura all but used up after <em>everything- </em>clasp around the hilt of the weapon laid out before him, ready for the taking. He focuses on that- on the red, corded grip leading up to a small clock face which glows in the dim light of the city, up to the smooth metallic handguard that seems to double as a cutting edge. He squeezes down on the grip, grounding himself in the sensation of coarse thread and strong bindings; then, he allows his eyes to trail upwards. There are feather motifs engraved onto the segmented, tapered blade, the giant weapon glinting silver and neon blue as it reflects the lights of flickering storefronts, long having closed down.</p><p>Everything has closed down. It is unsettling. He does not know exactly where he is, but based on the symmetrical streets and the peaceful, urban air, he can guess it is a backstreet of Vale.</p><p>He has never seen Vale so empty. <em>We’re not safe.</em></p><p>“It’s okay, Qrow,” the voice breathes, its familiar, lilting tenor reassuring and gentle. It is gut-wrenching, realizing just how much shock lingers within that voice despite the fact that the speaker tries his best to remain positive. Qrow steadies his breath in return, nodding, gritting his teeth as he tenses, eyes locking onto where silver blade turns crimson.</p><p>He does not look further.</p><p>“You can do this.” There is no lie in those words.</p><p>Qrow snorts, but he cannot respond, even though he opens his mouth. Naught but hoarse breaths and choked gasps slip out of his throat. That is not a problem for now, however; he has bigger issues to take care of, first and foremost.</p><p>After all, his first priority is removing this blade which speaks to him with Clover’s voice, each word causing the clock face upon the hilt of the blade to glow, the hands ticking forward with each syllable. It is good that Clover talks slowly, he supposes; it is so much easier to focus on the shifting of gears in the open, mystical clock face than to look at just how grotesquely this blade has been embedded through Clover’s chest, pinning him into the wall.</p><p>
  <em>He’s not dead, though. He’s here. </em>
</p><p>At least, his voice is.</p><p>Qrow feels a wave of nausea wash over him as the blade slips out of concrete, only to slide noisily through flesh. He swallows down the urge to gag despite bile rising up into his throat, his entire esophagus burning, the taste acrid and bitter upon his tongue; instead, he simply hunkers down and focuses on removing the blade.</p><p>“I’m here, Qrow. Just breathe.”</p><p>He does not look at crimson staining the blade as it pulls away from flesh. Once upon a time, it would not have bothered him, but he has long since left that life. He was not supposed to keep fighting anymore- that was why he came to Remnant in the first place-</p><p>He wishes he could laugh, cry, sing, speak, <em>anything. </em>He simply needs noise to block out the sound of sirens ringing in the distance, of metal sliding through flesh.</p><p>With one final heave, the sword is ripped free. Qrow keeps his eyes closed as he feels the tension release, a heavy weight sinking into his hands as the broad, tapered blade fully becomes one with his hold; the tip drags against damp pavement for a moment before he raises it, cracking his neck from side to side, feeling his joints pop and twist before he can straighten his back, brandishing the blade above the corpse below him.</p><p>“I knew you had it in you,” Clover remarks. “Open your eyes. I’ve removed the blood.”</p><p>True to his word, as Qrow opens eyelids, crimson eyes do not see bloodstains upon the blade. The body looks strangely dry, in fact. Qrow does not ask questions- there is no time to.</p><p>They need to go.</p><p>Kneeling to the right of the slumped-over body leaning against the concrete barrier, Qrow reaches to the man’s lapel, unclipping his pin single-handedly. The clover and horseshoe emblem is meant to be worn so that the horseshoe is right-side-up, containing the good luck it holds for the wearer.</p><p>He turns it upside down as he clips it onto his own lapel, his blazer tattered, his Singer shroud underneath completely ripped. He is quick to rip off excess material and tuck the tattered hem of what is now ostensibly a sheer shirt into his slacks, for there is no reason to keep hiding who he is from the public. The shroud is useful no longer, nor is any of Clover’s luck.</p><p>After all, the world is ending, isn’t it? The sirens are growing louder. The login count upon the top corner of the nearest billboard is dropping, neon letters glowing upon the holoscreen with no remorse, ticking away like a timer signalling the end of days. Remnant is crumbling, and there is nothing he can do about it.</p><p>Without a voice, there is nothing a singer can do but <em>run.</em></p><p>“Run, Qrow,” Clover murmurs. “Those things are coming.”</p><p>He winces, remembering the shadowy figures which had crashed onstage moments after the assault. <em>But-</em></p><p>“Qrow,” Clover repeats, almost pleading now, “you have to go. They didn’t get what they wanted.”</p><p>He pauses, looking down at the sword, a chill running down his spine.</p><p>After a moment’s hesitation, Clover says, “…you. Me. This… <em>thing </em>I’m in. It’s us, Qrow.”</p><p>Qrow reaches down, pressing the trigger underneath the bladed handguard. In an instant, the segmented framework of the blade collapses, the entire thing compressing to a manageable size. He traces one long, callused finger over the clock face, watching as the seconds tick by, the minutes standing still until Clover finally says, “…program files call it ‘Harbinger’.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>“We’ve gotta go, you old crow. They- those things? They’re called the Grimm.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>“…They’re here.”</p><p>Almost automatically, Qrow grabs the grip of Harbinger with both hands and presses the trigger, extending the blade into its massive form once again. The metal gleams, ready to shred and tear into shadow without remorse.</p><p>But is he?</p><p>“Watch your back. I’m here with you. We’ll figure this out together.”</p><p>He wishes he could speak. He wants to tell Clover that he’ll be okay, too. He wants to tell Clover that he’ll find a way to save him.</p><p>…he wants to talk to Clover. He knows that Clover loves his voice, after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He would have thought it would be harder to re-enter the fray; however, as the very air he breathes seems to glitch and tear, a rift opening up in midair two metres in front of him, blocking his only exit out of this back alley where he has found Clover and the Harbinger, he realizes that his body remembers combat far better than he would have ever liked, already preparing for the battle ahead. His knees bend, muscles tensing, adrenaline pumping through his system immediately, and his eyes hone in on the target to come, already planning different ways to strike down whatever exits this rift.</p><p>He had thought his days on the battlefield were over. Yet, the weight of the Harbinger is heavy in the best way- comforting- in his palms. It feels <em>right.</em></p><p>Perhaps that is because Clover is within- perhaps not. All that matters, though, is that the trigger opens the blade with just as much ease as before, leaving him ready to summon up his old skill as the world seems to shift, the rift before him spreading open, leaving naught but darkness in its wake.</p><p>Eventually, the darkness solidifies into physical form. He grimaces- the desire to cuss has never been stronger, for this creature is <em>hideous </em>in its hunched, two-legged form, a long, almost reptilian tail flicking out to balance thick, predatory haunches. Claws of shadow form, so long they could rend the very flesh off his bones; he shudders the most, however, as he watches the air around the top of the creature’s face twist, snap, glitch into place, until there is a mask of what looks to be white bone settled upon the lizard-like muzzle gnashing and spitting at him.</p><p>From within the bone mask, two crimson, glowing eyes flicker, alight.</p><p>The clock face lights up, minute hand moving forward. “It’s a Creep Grimm,” Clover’s voice explains. Qrow frowns. Those words mean nothing to him.</p><p>“We’ve got to get out of here, Qrow.”</p><p>That, he understands.</p><p>Qrow’s grip tightens upon the corded grip of the Harbinger. There is no way out of this alley aside from where the Creep lurks. As if on cue, the creature roars at him, opening its mouth, revealing a maw filled with an oozing, tar-like substance dripping down fangs, almost like saliva; the same fluid begins to coat its claws, sharp points glistening in the neon glow as its body solidifies completely at last.</p><p>There is no way out but to fight.</p><p>“Qrow, please don’t-“</p><p>He pays the voice no heed. Clover does not know his true prowess, his true sins; he does not know the monster of a reaper Qrow had been back in days long past, does not understand that the true creature he should fear is not this Creep.</p><p>The monster throws its head back, roaring, spittle flying into the air before it begins to charge.</p><p>The battle is swift; he takes hold of the blade and swings it down decisively, cutting through the creature’s mask with little struggle once he is within range. The motion feels relaxed, nostalgic, as if he is moving in tandem with his past self.</p><p>The blade is a lot lighter to swing than expected. A small smile pulls his lips, despite all of the fatigue and fear. It is almost as if Clover is carrying this blade with him.</p><p>As the monster falls, however, Clover’s voice whispers, “You- you have to avoid the Tar.”</p><p>Qrow frowns, glancing around. What is he-</p><p>And then, he spots it.</p><p>The place where the monster had fallen is now occupied by naught but a pool of black liquid, reflecting neon lights and the gentle streetlamps which illuminate the street. Qrow knees down next to it, reaching out a hand; it looks viscous and thick, so black yet glossy that it seems to simultaneously absorb all light and reflect it all.</p><p>His hand suddenly screams in pain as Clover roars, sending a jolting shock through Qrow’s body through the Harbinger’s grip, “Don’t touch it!”</p><p>He pulls his hand back, clutching onto the Harbinger in horror. <em>What is-</em></p><p>“Qrow,” Clover pleads, “you can’t touch it- it’ll process your data.”</p><p><em>Process? What does that even mean? </em>Qrow swallows thickly, stepping away from the pool of liquid not a moment too soon; the liquid suddenly disappears, almost as if absorbed by the cobblestone pavement upon which is lays. However, the area where it had rested is no longer a warm, grey cobblestone, mortar smooth between each step. Instead, the ground is smooth, flat; not a single speck of light reflects off a plane of pure darkness, almost as if the very essence of that spot of sidewalk has been… deleted.</p><p>Qrow trembles, a chill rushing through his body. Without realizing it, he shivers, collapsing the Harbinger and clutching it against his chest, drawing his blazer closer around him. He is cold. He is scared.</p><p>This is nothing like he has ever seen in Remnant. Remnant was supposed to be <em>safe.</em></p><p>“Qrow,” Clover murmurs gently, “we can’t stay here long. We’ve got to go- if we can get to the highway, we can skip town. Those things-“ and he pauses, almost as if scouring for information, “-the Grimm, they’re congregating in Atlas. We’ve got to get out of this. C’mon. Let’s go.”</p><p>
  <em>There’s no point running. </em>
</p><p>“Qrow, c’mon.”</p><p>Wordlessly, Qrow stands. However, as he begins to move forward, his eyes latch onto a CCTS terminal still alight by the side of the road. It is naught but a public polling booth; something so menial would never have caught his attention before unless he had needed it for something small, but now, he finds that his heart begins to race at the mere sight of it. Rushing over, he taps his beat-up Scroll from his pocket against the scanner, sighing in relief as he sees <em>Signed on as Q. Branwen </em>appear on the large holoscreen.</p><p>The top news story immediately dampens his joy. ‘<em>More people leaving for the country in light of last night’s attack?’ </em>His eyes skim over the article, mouth curling into a sneer as he reads what the reporter has written.</p><p>Clover sighs, the clock face lighting up, casting a bright red glow onto the terminal. “I- this is bullshit. They think you’re dead? Or that <em>you’re </em>responsible for the assault?”</p><p>Qrow quickly types into the article’s comment box, <em>‘Don’t believe what you hear. I’m fine. They can’t take me down that easily. –Q.’ </em>After submitting it for the masses to see, he snarls silently at the inane, “Thank you for your response!” prompt which appears flashing upon the holoscreen, shrouding his face in a sickly glow.</p><p><em>They won’t take me alive, </em>he thinks.</p><p>It is always strange, just how easily Clover can tell what he is thinking. “C’mon, Qrow. We’ll be fine if we stay moving. The highway’s just past the docks, and we can avoid the path to Atlas from there. They won’t find us.”</p><p>Qrow wishes he could believe Clover. As it is, he simply raises the blade, pressing his forehead against the clock face. <em>Let’s go.</em></p><p>Where, he doesn’t know. Out of this alleyway shall be a start.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>More Creeps appear right before he can turn the corner. “Just gotta get past these,” Clover says. “Then we can hit Main Street. We’ll get to the next district- I think I know where we are. East of the docks. We can get out of here, Qrow.” In response, Qrow closes his eyes, bringing the clock face of the Harbinger up to his forehead, pressing hair streaked with sweat and pomade and dust against the green shimmer; Clover whispers, “I know, Qrow, I know.”  </p><p>Shadowy beings materialize in front of him. He doesn’t want to have to fight anymore, but what choice does he have-</p><p>The moment his eyes close and his forehead connects to the blade, however, he gasps, feeling the entire world slow down, stilling- all except the Harbinger, at least. It is as if the air is silent, not a whisper of the wind brushing through his hair. The neon crackle of shopfronts and the flicker of dimming streetlights freezes, the world captured in a snapshot of time, frozen in frame.</p><p>He can still see everything in his mind’s eye, though, almost as if his eyes were still open.</p><p>It is not only the world which is still. The Grimm are also utterly motionless, as if locked in space and time, the darkness of Qrow’s vision allowing him to look at their shapes in the shadows beneath his eyelids. They do not move. They do not snarl. They do not attack.</p><p>And yet, the thrumming blade in his hand continues to glow and shine.</p><p>Qrow raises his hand experimentally, brushing his hair out of closed eyes. He is able to move, but these things, nor the very air they breathe… nothing else can move<em>.</em></p><p>Clover lets out a long, haggard breath from within, the clock face flashing at the sound. “You… you’re seeing this, right?”</p><p>He nods.</p><p>“…kill them.”</p><p>He nods. Clover knows that he will not give in.</p><p>Within moments, he has planned out his attack, using this slight reprieve before the storm to understand exactly where he must go. He does not know what is going on- how the Harbinger is interrupting the flow of code and time itself, there is no way to truly understand, if even Clover cannot find the answer hidden within the code of the blade- but he shall not dally. There is work to be done.</p><p>A few seconds after opening his eyes, and his blade has already passed clean through every single Grimm, cleaving their white bone masks in two. The screams and roars of pain they unleash upon the world are terrifying, but Qrow pays it no mind as he fights, his body moving almost independently of his heart now that his plan of action is set. His heart is focused on the melodies in his head, air passing through his lips as if to sing. No sound comes out, but he supports each theoretical note as if there is a husky baritone slipping through the gap between his lips, as if his concert had never been interrupted.</p><p>It is but a fleeting thought.</p><p>Soon, all that remains are three Tar pools bubbling, processing the surfaces upon which they landed to remove any form of texture or life. Qrow shudders at the sight. It is not natural.</p><p>He does not waste any time, though. The moment Clover whispers, “You’re safe. Let’s keep going. No more of those Creeps are nearby,” Qrow folds the Harbinger away and hooks the blade guard onto his belt, rushing down the street.</p><p>Those words are barely spoken before the air seems to vibrate with energy once again, and Clover lets out another long, haggard sigh. “Never mind,” he mutters bitterly.</p><p>The next Grimm who appear, ripping open the fabric of time and space and data so easily that shivers rush down Qrow’s spine without ceasing at the sight, are even more horrifying than the Creeps. It take a long time for Clover to find a name for the monsters which appear- “Salem,” Clover whispers, looking up at the two humanoid, almost feminine silhouettes which skulk and teleport through the square, leaving behind trails of Tar and wearing bony, red-lined masks that protrude behind their heads like demonic crowns- but Qrow can feel his old experience, his old practice, rushing through his veins. His body remembers these movements.</p><p>Before he can forget, however, he raises the Harbinger back up to his forehead, feeling cool metal press against his hair and skin, chilling him to the bone. He does not mind it, though, for as these figures notice him at last, raising clawed hands, ready to strike, he merely closes his eyes, and the world falls still.</p><p>It is eerie, just how silent the world can become.</p><p>He had thought he had forgotten, but as he uses the silence to his advantage to plan his attack, he realizes that despite the years of solace he had found in his music, in his life here on Remnant- in <em>Clover- </em>he can never truly be free of his past. His memories are engrained deeper than anything else ever could be in his soul, and nothing will ever be able to take away that experience. As he cleaves the second Salem apart, an ear-splitting screech ringing through the air as it crumbles to an acrid pool of Tar ringing through the air, he knows that he is more than capable of fighting off these Grimm, whatever they are.</p><p>Whether he wants to fight is a different story, though.</p><p>
  <em>I need to fight. I need to figure out what’s going on.</em>
</p><p>Clover keeps giving him directions to get out of town. For now, Qrow shall listen.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It feels so strange writing a story where they're not bickering back and forth...</p><p>If you're reading along, let me know what you think thus far! Next chapter is the breaking point where everything really begins.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The terminal which he spots on another street corner as he exits the back alleys of Vale, finally nearing the main streets, flickers on as he approaches, sensing the signal from his Scroll. “We should keep going,” Clover urges. “We don’t know when they’re going to come back.”</p><p>Qrow shakes his head, pressing towards the CCTS anyways, for even though Clover wants to skip town as soon as possible, there is still value in finding these terminals. After all, how in the world are they supposed to be able to watch over their current situation if they’re so quick to run away, to cut themselves off from the rest of the world?</p><p>He does not want to be alone. This silence is more terrifying than the monsters stalking them.</p><p>Ignoring Clover’s protests, Qrow tucks the Harbinger back onto his belt and jogs over to the terminal, tapping his old Scroll against the machine. The holoscreen springs to life, not yet corrupted by whatever ill has invaded Remnant; the message <em>Signed on as Q. Branwen </em>pops up immediately, its neon glow shimmering off of the Harbinger’s smooth blade hanging at his hip in its condensed form.</p><p>A new poll catches his attention. They are always quick to pop up; after all, immediate polls are how everything is decided upon in Remnant, so Qrow has long since grown used to opening up the options and mindlessly picking from whatever benign options await him.</p><p>He rolls his eyes instinctively when he sees that the headline is nothing useful in their current state of affairs, instead simply reading, ‘<em>And what would YOU like Remnant’s beautiful morning weather to be today? Light rain or gentle snow?’</em> Glancing down at the Harbinger, he brushes his fingers lightly against the clock face.</p><p>Clover chuckles, his laughter lighting up the blade. It’s almost beautiful, Qrow thinks. “You know I’m a sucker for snow,” he says lightly.</p><p><em>Damn northern boy, </em>Qrow responds in his mind.</p><p>…will he ever be able to visit Clover’s family again in the northern snowy peaks ever again? He hopes so. His fingers trace the clock face lovingly. <em>I’ll make it so, don’t worry.</em></p><p>He taps the option for snow with little delay. The message, “<em>Thank you for your response</em>!” pops up instantly, showing off the current results of the poll. It is in his favour, he finds; with 66% of the population wanting snow, the sky seems to darken for a moment before tiny flecks of white begin to fall from the sky, the air chilling. Within moments, his breath escapes his lips in little puffs of steam, drying out his skin and leaving him shivering.</p><p>“Maybe we should stop off at your place first and get another jacket,” Clover says worriedly. “You’re going to get sick if you stay like this.”</p><p>Qrow rolls his eyes and logs off from the CCTS terminal. He takes in a deep breath before turning on his heel, jogging down the road and around the corner. All they need to do is pass the nearby waterway, cross the short bridge, and then, they will be well on their way to finding freedom.</p><p>That jog is cut short by the sight which greets them upon the pier, however. The water, which is normally so beautiful and tranquil- Qrow cannot count just how many times he and Clover had gone to the piers of Vale in the early morn to watch the fog roll in, the sun’s rays reflecting off blissfully-calm waters, the two of them standing with coffee in one hand and the other interlocked with the other man’s fingers- is anything but. The water mirrors ash and fire, the blue seas a brilliant, burning red. Qrow lifts his gaze up to look at the distant city where he had been just a few hours before. How he had gotten all the way to the outskirts of Vale, he still does not understand; it had to have been the Harbinger’s doing, to take him off the stage and send him to suffer out here.</p><p><em>No, </em>he realizes distantly, <em>it sent me to safety. Look at what’s happening.</em></p><p>In the distance, he can see Beacon covered in flames, shadows racing up the roads that can only belong to the Grimm. Beyond the waterway, he can see Mantle’s tiered city rising higher and higher into a dense cloud of smoke caused by the chaotic flames which engulf so much of their once-peaceful world.</p><p>He lifts his head. Atlas floats in the distance, the magnificent, pristine white floating city now naught but a pyre burning starkly in the grey, grim sky. It does not match the neon glow of Mantle below, nor the gentle snowfall which continues to dance across his vision here in Vale.</p><p>Clover is looking, too. How, Qrow does not know, but he quietly murmurs, “The moment we get to the highway travelling out of Beacon, we’re home free. We can do this, Songbird.”</p><p>His heart aches. He takes in a deep breath, then exhales, his breathing steady and slow as he unfurls the Harbinger again.</p><p>“There’s no Grimm nearby,” Clover breathes. Qrow does not care. He presses his forehead against the clock face and closes his eyes, relishing in the silence, the tranquility as the world slows to a stop around him, the only sounds remaining consisting of his breath and Clover’s disembodied voice coming from the blade in his hands as he adds, “Oh. You just want a break?”</p><p>
  <em>I just want you back.</em>
</p><p>Then, the moment is over. He opens his eyes, gritting his teeth as the chill sends another shiver rushing through his body. He has to keep moving if he does not want to freeze; his home in Beacon will have a jacket, but first things first, he has to make it there.</p><p>As the air rips open again, he knows that it shall take a long while to get back home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you want to see the poster from this chapter, <a href="https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com/post/630922377174433792/heres-a-quick-drawing-i-did-this-evening-of">here's a link to my quick sketch of it:</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>More people going to Patch as these strange attacks continue! Is this the end of Remnant?”</em></p><p>Qrow flinches as he reads that name upon the holoscreen of this nearest terminal. Speculations are still running amok wildly as people attempt to parse what in the world is setting fire to their utopia, what is sucking away its texture and leaving behind Tar and processed data. However, it is not their theories which cause him to shy away, but the mention of Patch, the lovely little idyllic island which exists as a destination to anyone and everyone who has truly given up on Remnant. He knows Patch, far too well. He knows what the media really means when they say people are ‘going to Patch’- or maybe he doesn’t, he thinks as he looks up at the nearest billboard. The login count continues to decrease, however, he begins to wonder whether he <em>does </em>indeed know.</p><p>Is it a euphemism? Is ‘going to Patch’ indicative of something else?</p><p>The number continues to decline. Remnant is emptying.</p><p>Clover gasps, catching Qrow’s attention as he cries, “Brothers, I- Qrow, get over there. I can <em>hear her.”</em></p><p>Bewildered, Qrow glances around. At the opposite end of the street, lit up by the warm lights of the main streets of Vale, he can see the form of two Creeps hunched over something that is halfway to becoming naught but smooth, unpolished black; however, as one moves its leg, his heart leaps into his mouth as he sees a familiar face attached to that mass.</p><p>Wordlessly, he dispatches of the Grimm, rushing over to the felled body of Coco Adel. He has worked with her in the past- a brilliant designer. His fingers brush over the needlework of his sheer Singer garb around the collar, recognizing Coco’s work in every stitch, for she has been helping put together his stage outfits ever since he had first taken Remnant by storm.</p><p>And here she lies, unconscious on the street, half of her body naught but a mass of smooth black blocks left behind from Tar and consumption by the Grimm.</p><p>Strangely enough, Clover’s clock face on the Harbinger glows, but he does not speak; the hands move, whirring faster and faster, lines and engravings upon the blade glowing red and green intermittently. Then, Clover finally breaks this peculiar silence, murmuring, “She wants to come with us.”</p><p>Qrow gawps at the blade. <em>He can… he can talk to her?! But she’s-</em></p><p><em>Just like Clover, </em>he realizes faintly, a wave of dizzying washing over him. <em>Oh my god, whatever is happening- the two of them have been reduced down to data, they’re just-</em></p><p>“Please, Qrow,” Clover murmurs. “She can help us fight, I think.”</p><p>Qrow gulps, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against the clock face. He does not need to hear Clover’s voice to understand what he must do.</p><p>So, without restraint, he opens his eyes, turns this giant, unwieldly blade, and stabs Coco’s body through the humanoid chest.</p><p>The blade glows, emitting a rush of air and light, causing Qrow to squint against the sudden brilliance emitted by Coco’s body. It lasts for but a breath, however, and soon enough, the shimmer has faded, leaving but a space on the pavement where Coco’s body had been.</p><p>“She’s barely audible,” Clover says, the clock hands moving fervently forward, “but she’s in here, now. She’s made you stronger. She’s going to help.”</p><p>Sighing, Qrow pushes his hair back. <em>I don’t know what that means-</em></p><p>Without giving him a moment to breathe, the Harbinger begins to vibrate in his hands, the gears within shifting as the blade seems to disassemble itself out of nowhere. Suddenly, a rifle barrel is exposed at the tip of the Harbinger’s elongated blade, a trigger appearing within comfortable reach of his index finger. His nostrils flare in distaste as he looks at the mechanism which has almost completely hidden itself back into the blade, leaving behind this innocuous trigger and barrel as if it had been there all along.</p><p>He raises the blade to point to a street sign which has been knocked off its post, dangling in the wind now as it clings to its post by a sliver of metal. It has been far too long since he has tried to aim, but as he allows his heart to settle down, the vision of shooting it off its perch grows clearer.</p><p>And, with a quick pull of the trigger, the sign goes flying off.</p><p>He does not know what the bullets are; all he sees is a flash of light before the resounding clang of metal fills the air. “Well. Your aim is certainly impressive,” Clover murmurs as Qrow continues down the road, keeping his eyes locked on each and every shadow he sees in case the Grimm reappear. “Even Coco’s impressed.”</p><p>Those words causes a sour taste to fill Qrow’s mouth. He sighs, tapping the clock face quickly. <em>Why in the world did she get attacked?</em></p><p>Somehow, it seems that Clover understands his silent query. “I asked her,” he says grimly. “She doesn’t really know.”</p><p><em>It’s a shame, </em>he thinks as he pauses, tapping his Scroll against a small lowering pedestrian bridge’s control panel. It lights up with his scanned ID and moves down, allowing him to cross a small canal peacefully now that nothing is using the waterway. <em>I’m going to miss seeing her designs. She was good. </em></p><p>Qrow has no time to dwell upon it, though. They are barely into the next plaza when Clover takes in a sharp breath, catching Qrow’s attention. He skitters to a stop, looking down at the clock face worriedly. His concern is met with naught but the words, “Oh- it’s… it’s you.”</p><p>The poster is the first thing he sees as he raises his eyes to look at this main intersection. It is a breathtaking piece; he still cannot believe Clover had managed to get Velvet Scarlatina of all people, one of the most esteemed photographers in all of Remnant, to be the one to take the photo. The young woman’s skill with a shot was just as riveting as ever, even with a tired, dusty old crow as her model.</p><p><em>I really look like a proper singer, </em>he thinks in awe, in longing wonder. To think that a candid shot would inspire such elegance, such refined beauty; he looks ethereal, warm orange and pink lights adding colour to his skin which he has not carried for years, the swirling designs laced into the background tying in with the wordless advertisement so seamlessly that it still manages to knock him off his feet, saying all it needs to say. After all, all anyone needs to see is his face and his emblem. They can find the rest of the information upon the giant billboards lining the way to Amity’s stage in the entertainment district.</p><p>When he had first seen this image, he had been absolutely awestruck. Scarlatina had edited the background to glow, and yet, all the focus lingers upon his face; despite his age and scars and weariness, his crimson eyes glow through sultry lids, lips barely parted as he takes in a breath. How she had managed to capture such a stunning shot simply by asking him to sing, he does not know.</p><p>Now, however, his heart merely sinks. He looks at the clock on his Scroll. It has only been an hour since the attack.</p><p>…had he looked so enraptured just an hour earlier onstage?</p><p>Clover murmurs, “You looked beautiful in that new outfit.”</p><p>
  <em>Yeah. </em>
</p><p>“Still do, of course, Songbird. Torn-up and all.”</p><p>He reaches out a hand, touching the poster projected upon the wall, craning his head back to take in the giant image in full. <em>I don’t want to fight.</em></p><p>If he stares at this poster, it almost feels as if the events of the past few hours was all just a dream.</p><p>He does not realize just how long he stands before that poster until Clover begins to murmur, “Hey, Qrow, stop.”</p><p>He does not move.</p><p>Clover’s voice hitches in urgency, in barely concealed frustrated grief. “Qrow, we have to go.”</p><p>He does not react.</p><p>The clock face lights up again as Clover’s tone turns pleading. “Qrow, the concert’s done, they stole your voice. Don’t worry. We’ll get it back from them, whoever they are, but- but we can’t stay here. Let’s keep moving.” A pause. “<em>Please</em>.”</p><p>It is only when Clover adds, “Coco wants to leave, too. She doesn’t know what’s happened to Velvet.”</p><p><em>They were friends. </em>At that, Qrow finally moves, finally takes a step back; he traces a finger across the clock tenderly, then brushes the trigger, a quiet apology to the processed heartache living inside the Harbinger, tucked somewhere alongside Clover’s voice. <em>I’m sorry. I’ll go.</em></p><p>So, they move on, leaving the giant billboard behind- leaving Qrow’s fleeting dreams of happiness with it.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Only a few chapters and we'll get to Amity, and I cannot wait.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The streets are raced through without hesitation. Vale has nothing left for them, Qrow realizes quickly; the closer they get to Clover’s destination, wherever that truly is, the more he realizes that the Tar has infected more of the once-peaceful city than anyone has realized. The further they go, the sidewalk becomes more and more processed, more and more blackened and smoothed out like a canvas of nightshade, waiting to be restructured; viscous Grimm pools left by their assaults only add more destruction- or deletion, if they are being honest- to the surroundings with each step.</p><p>Qrow’s stomach turns as he realizes that he is responsible for adding to this destruction of Vale, for as they move forward, more demonic Grimm appear without hesitation. A bear-like Ursa almost guts Qrow, if it is not for Clover’s warning- more Creeps and another silhouette of what Clover calls Salem appears out of nowhere, aiming to hunt him down. It’s all horrifying, the white masks of bone dissolving into the nothing with each strike of the Harbinger, but the high of victory never reaches Qrow’s heart.</p><p>Their city is crumbling. There is no joy to be had here.</p><p>A quick look at a passing CCTS terminal tells tales of an ‘effort constructed by the City Council to investigate the cause of this disturbance’, an article full of such drivel that Qrow almost collapses in his bitter, silent laughter; Clover has to urge him away before he can write an acidic response in the comments and paint an even bigger target on his back. The anger which Qrow feels roiling beneath his veins is real, however; the rage and injustice of it all cannot be contained, for their entire world has been turned inside out without remorse in a way that no pretty words can ever alleviate.</p><p>Finally, the duo find themselves at the foot of the highway going up to Beacon. The road itself appears relatively unscathed, but Qrow is not looking for safe driving conditions; what he seeks is a <em>ride. </em>What he shall find, he does not know, for if the login count atop all the functioning billboards is to be trusted, the population has massively decreased even over the course of the past hour. Will there even be any vehicles left to take?</p><p>Clover is strangely confident. It is only once he is within the parking garage at the base of the cliff that he realizes who Clover is searching for. The realization makes his head spin, but he does not have the words to speak it to life even if his voice did still function.</p><p>He finds their target quickly, and every bone in his body aches as he looks upon the yellow and black vehicle. Silently, he pulls out his Scroll and sends a message to the owner of the sleek motorcycle sitting out in the open, ready for the taking, the holo-Dust parking locks having shut down with the interruption of power to the building it is housed by. However, Blake Belladonna does not respond. <em>C’mon, kiddo, </em>he thinks, staring at the screen as if to make her response arrive faster. <em>You’ve gotta be okay.</em></p><p>It is Clover who interrupts. “If you’re looking for Blake…”</p><p>Shuddering, Qrow looks up, scanning the vicinity carefully. It takes but a moment, but boots sticking out from behind a nearby alley are indication enough.</p><p>“Let’s see if she’s able to join us,” Clover murmurs. “I… I know you wouldn’t want her to be alone. Not with who she was to your niece.”</p><p><em>Don’t say ‘was’, </em>Qrow thinks as he grimaces, clenching his fists tightly around the grip of the Harbinger.</p><p>And yet, as he finds a half-processed body around the corner identifiable only thanks to its tall, thigh-high heeled leather boots, he cannot even be angry. He is just so, so tired of feeling empty.</p><p>Kneeling down beside it, he presses a hand down against where her shoulder should have been. <em>We’ll take you with us, kiddo,</em> he says silently, squeezing cold, unfeeling black material. Before Clover can say a word, he stands, lifts up the Harbinger, and stabs it straight into the core of processed, smooth obsidian. Blake’s boots shudder momentarily, then slump. The world lights up, the engravings on the blade even more so, as Clover murmurs to the data being downloaded into the blade, “Don’t worry. Welcome. We’ve got you. We’ve always got you. No- no, Yang’s not here. Sorry kid, but we… we still don’t know where she is, no. We haven’t heard from her for months. We’re taking her bike, though- don’t worry about it. We won’t leave any piece of her behind if we can help it.”</p><p>The blade glows brighter and brighter, but the shape itself does not change; instead, it is Qrow himself who feels different once the world settles back down, the dark alleyway no longer illuminated by the Harbinger’s glow. He feels lighter, quicker. Readier to run the distance.</p><p>Next stop: Beacon. The shining research facility, normally so warm and welcoming in its beautiful, perfectly-sculpted splendor, is tattered and ruined by flame and dark shadows which infect every surface. “Beacon’s under siege,” Clover murmurs as Qrow glances up to their destination. “We’re lucky your apartment’s on the outskirts, I guess. I wonder if the noodle shop will be open?”</p><p>Qrow rolls his eyes, but his smile feels more natural than it has all evening as he heads back to Yang’s motorcycle. <em>You kept it in good repair after our firecracker disappeared three months ago, huh? </em>he longs to say to Blake. The young woman had clearly taken care of Qrow’s niece’s bike, for it is lovingly polished and the gas tank is full, the sound of the engine roaring to life just as clean and pristine as it had been back when Yang was around to obsessively maintain it.</p><p>“Maybe her disappearance was related to all of this,” Clover thinks aloud. “Either way, we don’t have much time.”</p><p>He traces a finger against the clock face. <em>I just want them back, </em>he thinks. <em>I just want my little girls back.</em></p><p>His nieces have been gone for months now- Yang, for three, Ruby for five.</p><p>He wants <em>answers. </em></p><p>Qrow settles into the bike’s seat. It is a little too small for his tall, lanky body, but it shall do; after ensuring that the Harbinger’s handle is linked firmly to his belt, he revs the engine and pulls it out onto the street, heading up the cliffs towards Beacon.</p><p>“Thanks for the lift, Qrow,” Clover calls over the din of the engine. “Drive safe. We’ve just gotta drop by your place, and then we’ll be good to get out of town.”</p><p>Qrow’s lips curve into a frown. They are indeed going to his apartment. After that, however, Clover’s going to have to accept a change in plans.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At the first bend in the road, there is a drive-by terminal. Qrow does not hesitate to slow to a gradual stop, pulling out his Scroll and scanning the device onto the reader. A smile immediately lights up his face as he realizes just what exactly this terminal is used for in the grand scheme of things; that smile only grows as he realizes that the service it provides is still operational, even at the end of all things.</p><p>After a moment of simply taking in Qrow’s actions in silence, Clover finally breaks the stillness. “Are you really ordering <em>noodles</em> right now?” Clover gawps, absolutely dumbstruck.</p><p>Qrow snorts silently, plugging in his usual order- a House Special with extra beef tendon- set for delivery in twenty minutes. <em>Noodles are good for any occasion, </em>he replies immediately, but he is not offended, for he can perfectly imagine the baffled expression on Clover’s face just based on his voice alone. <em>You sound as if I haven’t ordered takeout at worse times</em>.</p><p>The end of the world was probably the best time to get comfort food from A Simple Wok, after all. His favourite local eatery would do wonders with cheering him up. Hell, if the old shopkeeper who ran the store himself came to deliver it, he’d probably weep.</p><p>Once his order is submitted, Clover only sighs, but his voice is amused, gentle, as he says, “…Blake is judging you for not ordering tuna.”</p><p><em>I’m not a damn cat, </em>is the immediate thought in response. He does not give any time to trying to convey that message, however; the moment the screen lights up with a small, “Thank you for your response!” he is already back on the bike, driving off into the night.</p><p>The road up to Beacon never usually takes that long, but with the way it winds endlessly around the cliff face, silvery railings around the edges reflecting the hellfire and shadowy chaos of the monsters which have spawned to tear Remnant down, time has never seemed to drag on longer. Qrow hates it intensely; no matter which direction the road takes them, he is forced to stare at nothing but the image of the looming destruction in the distance.</p><p>The screams from Beacon echo even down here. It is terrifying, just how loudly the snarls of the Grimm and the screams of those still logged in can ring through the air. He wonders whether his voice is lost among them, echoing in the cacophony of empty data and broken homes. There is no way to truly know- not until they have some answers as to what in the world is going on.</p><p>His throat does not ache. It does feel empty, though. He needs his voice back.</p><p>As they near the top, the Harbinger’s clock face lights up again. “This’ll have to be quick,” Clover murmurs. “You’ve got to stay away- these things don’t exactly have a sense of humour. You’ve seen what they can do, Qrow. I doubt Amity is even standing properly anymore- I don’t know what this blade did, but it sure saved us, got us out of there.”</p><p>Qrow dares to send a glance upwards, towards the giant stadium built right off the edge of Beacon’s cliffs. It stands upon the other side of the main residential area, different layers painted with different colours lightening as it rose towards the heavens. Only a few hours before, Qrow had stood at the foot of the stadium in awe, ready to step into the green room behind the stage- ready to take Remnant by storm, radicals be damned- with Clover by his side.</p><p>…Clover had been by his side.</p><p><em>He’s still here, </em>he scolded himself. <em>It’s gonna break his heart, but I can’t leave him like this.</em></p><p>Qrow <em>needed </em>Clover by his side. Physically. He couldn’t do this alone, they both knew it. He wouldn’t have taken the stage earlier that night without him, after all.</p><p>A voice just… wasn’t enough.</p><p>Now, however, as he looked up at the stadium coming into full view, his heart did flip-flops in his mouth, bile and anxiety rising up to throttle his already-muted voice, choking the air from his lungs. Half of the structure looked to be no longer intact, instead shining a glistening black. Red lights glinted around the edges, patrolling shadows clearly lurking in wait.</p><p>“See that? They’re already processing the entire stadium. They’re looking for <em>us, </em>Songbird. And if they find us, they’ll drag you down, take you out- they’ll <em>erase you,</em>” Clover spits, his voice cracking in time with the ticking of the second hand on the clock face. “Blake says she- she heard someone call them the <em>Circle, </em>whatever that means. Whoever those bastards are, they’ll separate us and delete you. They already have what they want.”</p><p><em>My voice. </em>He does not understand why they needed it, but he can figure out that much. Why else would he have been targeted, if it were not to leave him as broken as Coco or Blake?</p><p>Clover continues, “Then they’ll use me. And they’ll have their way with this city. We can’t be here for that.”</p><p>The wind rushing through his dark, grey-streaked hair stings his eyes, burns his cheeks, sends shivers racing up his spine. The Singer shroud is simply too sheer to be worn in a situation like this, and his blazer is not enough to stop gooseflesh from overtaking every inch of his skin. He realizes, though, that the road is growing level; after innumerable twists and turns, they have reached the top of the Beacon Cliffs. His home is on the outskirts- they’ll be there soon.</p><p>“Whatever you do,” Clover breathes as they finally reach Main Avenue, “don’t let me go, Qrow. Don’t let me go.”</p><p>
  <em>I never will.</em>
</p><p>They’re almost back <em>home.</em></p><p>And yet, as his grip tightens upon the corded grip of the Harbinger, Qrow feels no joy at that thought.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here's a longer chapter. I thought it would be less than 1k words, but... here we are OOF</p><p>Let me know what you think if you're reading along!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beacon is nothing like it had been twenty-four hours earlier. The streets are filled with more obsidian than not, entire blocks processed into the void. Qrow’s eyes search frantically for anything remotely familiar, for the landmarks he has grown to love over the past few years spent roaming the streets here; no matter how much crimson searches, however, he cannot spot the nooks and crannies of Beacon he knows so well. It is all just… gone.</p><p>A small CCTS terminal by which he stops just for a minute to check out the situation gives him no other information. Lisa Lavender is back at it again, the reporter for the Daily Remnant having posted another story about the citizens of their community who have so quickly scrambled, falling apart in the wake of this maelstrom of destruction. “With more and more people indicating that they will be ‘going to Patch’ over the next few hours, citizens are urged to stay here on the outskirts of Remnant if possible to avoid flooding the small island,” the article reads coldly, neon green light reflecting bitterly into his eyes as he scans the holoscreen. “The City Council are sure that they will be able to get everything under control-“</p><p><em>Bullshit, </em>he thinks, quickly leaning over to type in his commentary.</p><p>“Don’t say anything that’ll anger ‘the Circle’ or whoever,” Clover warns. “We can’t risk painting a bigger target on our backs- or at the very least, we can’t tell them exactly where to find us.”</p><p>Qrow does not heed his warning. <em>‘They’re calling it ‘going to Patch’. No one goes to Patch. Stay safe out there. –Q.’</em></p><p>Another article pops up the moment he clicks the submission button. Curious, he opens it up, immediately letting out a long, world-weary sigh; the politics behind the rejection of the newest beautification project of Mantle’s wall is not exactly of interest to him. Not now. <em>The people can vote on their garbage later, </em>he thinks bitterly. <em>We’re in the middle of a battlefield. </em></p><p>The thought, uttered so easily in his thoughts, rocks him to the core the moment he realizes what has just been thought. This is a battlefield. This is a warzone. Who the opposing sides are, he doesn’t exactly know- nor does he know where he falls. That confusion scares him far more than he would like.</p><p>The ride to his home is almost completed when he first sees the blockade formed by processed debris around colonnades which circle the central square. He slows the bike to a stop, allowing it to come to rest close enough to properly examine it. Unless he attempts to scale the blockade vertically, there is no way he can actually see what lies within. <em>I can just cut across to my complex, </em>he thinks, revving the engine up once again. <em>I’ll be fine-</em></p><p>And then, the screams begin, resonating with whatever stone remains- whatever stone is not fully processed. “People are trapped in there,” Clover breathes.</p><p>Qrow spares a glance upwards; the nearest billboard shows an even smaller login count than expected. <em>How many people are left? How many have been killed off, processed? </em>His heart thuds painfully in his chest. <em>…am I going to be one of the last ones? </em></p><p>He unfurls the Harbinger without hesitation. He cannot be the last one standing. He <em>refuses </em>to be left alone here- not while so many questions remain as to what in the world is actually going on. The mere thought of being alone in Remnant is enough to raise gooseflesh so high it almost hurts.</p><p>The moment he tries to strike the wall with the blade, however, desperate to break down the wall between them and whoever is trapped inside this colonnade-made cage, the wall bursts open, another bear-like Ursa spilling out into the street. The moment the giant, hulking monster catches sight of Qrow and the Harbinger, its eyes flash red, ready to tear the man apart and take back the blade which is part of all of this grief and suffering.</p><p>It takes deft manoeuvring, but eventually, the Ursa is struck down. It turns out that Blake’s addition to their twisted little ensemble of broken, scattered data has given him greater speed and agility, and he is able to avoid swipes of giant claws and gnashing teeth dripping with Tar easily enough. Once the beast is felled, Qrow is quick to rush through the whole left in the debris wall circled by the crumbling colonnade, gritting his teeth, readying himself to find the worst.</p><p>His clenched jaw almost seizes when he spots the half-processed bodies lying upon the destroyed walkways, the few remaining faces visible twisted caricatures of their former selves. Bile rises up into his throat. He takes a moment to breathe, to swallow it down, to close his eyes and allow the entire world to still as he presses the clock face of Harbinger against his forehead, begging for just a moment of respite.</p><p>The moment he opens his eyes, however, the world begins to move yet again, with distant howls of incoming Grimm growing louder and louder with every breath. “They’ve found us. We can’t stay here,” Clover urges gently. “Either fight or run- either way we’ve gotta go. C’mon- we’ve got to leave.”</p><p>
  <em>But we can-</em>
</p><p>“They’re all too far gone. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Qrow looks down at the corpses lying upon the cold, broken cobblestones, their visages completely muted and mangled by the Grimm and Tar which have completely devoured their likeness. He knows Clover is correct. <em>I’m so sorry, </em>he thinks, <em>I wish I could help.</em></p><p>There is nothing he can do. Without another glance backwards, he bolts out of the clearing and hops onto the small motorcycle, riding onwards towards his home. His lips press together in a thin line, his eyes stinging with unshed, bitter tears and the force of the wind flying in his face, along with ashes and specks of shadow that can only be coming from the Grimm. He refuses to think about those garish faces, about those lost lives. There is nothing they can do about it now.</p><p>“It’s okay, Qrow,” Clover soothes as he finally kicks down the bike stand, stepping away from the bike as he looks up at his tiny, unassuming apartment. “We did what we have to do.”</p><p>They have managed to weave through waves of Grimm thanks to the help of Coco’s firepower; the Harbinger clears away enemies easily, leaving them in front of the darkened complex in record time. Qrow skips up the fire escape stairs two at a time with the Harbinger swinging from his hip, brow furrowed in thought. Once he arrives at his own unit- <em>I knew it wasn’t lucky to take apartment 13, look at the mess we’ve found ourselves in- </em>he sighs, leaning his forehead against the door.</p><p>He is exhausted. He is cold. He is heartbroken and terrified and bitter, and he just needs it all to <em>stop.</em></p><p>There is a bag hanging upon the handle of his front door. “I cannot believe A Simple Wok actually delivered,” Clover breathes in awe. “They really don’t let their customers go hungry, huh?”</p><p>Qrow takes the bag with fingers that tremble far too much for his liking, the familiar logo of his favourite cheat-meal eatery shimmering in the neon glow of the light above his porch. He peeks inside- it’s a familiar box, far too big to contain meals for just one person, which makes sense considering how there are two pairs of chopsticks haphazardly thrown in.</p><p>The old shopkeeper knows that Clover and Qrow like to share their meals. He knows to give them a little extra, to give them extra cutlery and sauce. He knows that they share in everything together.</p><p>At last, Qrow steps through his front door, his Scroll providing entry through the automatic lock. It falls shut behind him, the lights automatically flicking on- dim, gentle, so unlike the fiery blaze which roars in the skies outside- as he walks into the dining area, the tiny apartment simultaneously so comforting and so gutting at the same time.</p><p>“You okay, Qrow?” Clover says gently. “We can’t stay here too long.”</p><p><em>No, and I know, but… </em>The growling of his stomach rings through the otherwise-dark apartment.</p><p>Clover’s laugh is brilliant as Qrow sets the Harbinger down in Clover’s usual chair, propping up the clock face so he may see it at eye level as he eats. Even if it is just from the strange blade, Clover’s laugh will always be breathtaking to Qrow. “Alright. Eat up, okay?”</p><p>Stiffly, Qrow sits down, opening up his dinner. He does not begin to eat, though- while it looks delicious, there is still something missing.</p><p>Without nary a glance back at Clover, Qrow stands, shuffling off into their bedroom. He shucks off the Singer’s garb in a hurry, silently apologizing to Coco for leaving behind the last bits of her beautiful work; instead, he tosses on a more comfortable shirt and vest, rolling up the long sleeves at the elbows. Then, stepping into the large walk-in closet, he rummages around until he finds what he is looking for.</p><p>As he sits at the dining table once more, Clover murmurs, “…you know, you have a jacket of your own.”</p><p>Qrow says nothing- even if he could speak, there would be nothing to say. Clover already knows why Qrow has opted for the slightly-oversized bomber jacket, why he has walked in only after spraying on more of Clover’s cologne onto the collar. When Qrow begins to eat, Clover simply opts to sigh, “You never eat enough, you know. I love watching you eat.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Qrow sets a pair of chopsticks out in front of the Harbinger then returns to his meal. With the scent of Clover’s cologne and the feeling of his familiar jacket and Clover’s voice filling the air, he closes his eyes, savouring the sensations as they combine with the taste of cheap cooking and home. When he does open them, he looks up at the wall, smiling automatically at the faces of his nieces staring back at him through photographs he has long since grown to cherish, for these are all he has of them as of late.</p><p>Clover begins to hum. It’s not particularly good, but his voice resonates with Qrow’s heart in the same melody Qrow had written for the younger man years earlier. Listening to that melody makes the food taste better, almost; for the first moment since the attack in Amity, everything feels like it’s going to be okay.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here's one of the scenes I've been just waiting to write this whole time XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Underneath the warm streetlights lining the paths surrounding and cutting through Beacon, he is just a blur of yellow and black, a swallowtail butterfly haunted by red taillights as he swerves through the streets, weaving through Grimm and corpses and processed land. Everywhere he looks, the obsidian grows more invasive, Tar spreading with every breath. At the very least, it is nowhere near as cold now that he wears a jacket. He only hopes the wind does not tear away the last dregs of Clover’s cologne from the collar.</p><p>Finally, they arrive at the crossroads. His heart pulses in his ears, pounding with such fervent strength that he grows dizzy. This is it. He is not ready to make this decision, and yet… he knows not of what else to do.</p><p>“We’re almost out of here, Songbird,” Clover whispers. “C’mon. Turn left at the cliffs, follow the trail out, and we’ll be rolling on out of here soon enough. Let’s get you out- I’m sure we can figure out what happened to you once we’re away from all this chaos-“</p><p>While Clover speaks, Qrow revs the engine once, twice in the night. It echoes in the air, ringing louder than the distant screams and roars which pervade the air. Here, there is a moment of tranquility, only broken up by the sound of the motorcycle- only broken up by their presence.</p><p>There is no going back.</p><p>So, holding his breath, Qrow kicks the bike forward and takes the cliff-side road.</p><p>For a long, long moment, there is nothing but the wind in his ears and the screams of the damned, lost in data. Neither of them speak, the Harbinger staying dark and muted. Finally, it begins to glow as Clover attempts desperately to find the words to explain why, to reason, to make sense of the fact that Amity is growing larger in the distance as they approach the stage where it all fell apart, rather than fleeing it.</p><p>“…You turned right.”</p><p>
  <em>I know.</em>
</p><p>“You know that the Grimm are not going to stop chasing you while you’re in this town.”</p><p>
  <em>I know.</em>
</p><p>“The Circle- those bastards who are behind all of this, what’re you going to do if you find them? What <em>can </em>you do if you find them? This isn’t why you came to Remnant in the first place!”</p><p>
  <em>I know.</em>
</p><p>“You’re not a soldier anymore, Songbird.”</p><p>
  <em>I know.</em>
</p><p>‘…I don’t want to see you fight like this.”</p><p>
  <em>I know. </em>
</p><p>“You’re never going to stop fighting though- not until you’ve gotten to the bottom of this, huh?” Clover laughs. He is not amused. “I guess I gotta say I’m proud of you.”</p><p>
  <em>I know.</em>
</p><p>“…I love you, you know that?” Clover’s voice breaks as he whispers these words, barely audible over the cacophony echoing endlessly into the night.</p><p>
  <em>…I know, Clo. I know.</em>
</p><p>Amity is waiting for them. Qrow needs his answers. At least with Clover’s jacket keeping him warm, he no longer feels as alone; and with the growls of incoming Grimm growing louder and louder with every streetlight, that is all Qrow can cling to.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>NEXT CHAPTER IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING AND I'M SO STOKED</p><p>anyways enjoy the sadness here</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Amity Colosseum is just as breathtaking as ever, even in its destruction. The northern face of the stadium is already a glossy obsidian, the formerly-delicate architecture all but erased in favour of black mass which simply… exists. The Tar is the only texture which remains. He wants to vomit as the acrid stench curls into his nostrils, invading his lungs, wiping away the last hints of noodles and broth which remain upon his tongue, replacing it with bitter, sour ash. He cuts down a few Grimm patrolling the entrance, but thanks to Blake and Coco’s combined strengths, the work is quick, painless.</p><p>He abandons Yang’s bike at a side entrance- not before pressing his forehead against the handlebars of course, promising to return to the last piece he has left of his older niece as soon as possible. <em>I’ll be back, firecracker, </em>he thinks. <em>I’ll find you out there, and we’ll work on your bike together again. I swear to you.</em></p><p>Eventually, he finds himself entering the main floor of Amity. The moment he passes the threshold, he is struck, however- struck by the view, by the greatness and splendour of it all, by the grandness of the arching doors and the few glimmering lights still untouched by the Tar, by the smooth, immaculate flooring which seems to glow with every step-</p><p>By the ghosts which continue to haunt this hall.</p><p>His palms are clammy, and no matter how much he wipes them onto his slacks, they do not become dry. His heartbeat refuses to stop hammering in his ears, for all he has to do is close his eyes; then, he can visualize the crowd which had filled this hall merely hours before. People had populated the central area, lining up for snacks and drinks, enjoying the beauty of the stadium and spending time leisurely with one another while waiting for the performance to start.</p><p>The crowds were always simultaneously overwhelming and riveting to Qrow. He is never good with being a part of them- too much time in his life had been spent in combat, and his body will never forget just how easily a crowd can turn into a massacre. In Remnant, he has always been able to bear with the crowds, however, thanks to Clover’s protective guard, his larger body always providing a barrier between Qrow’s weary frame and the others who threaten to invade Qrow’s space.</p><p>Before the show, Clover had taken him out to buy a small bag of popcorn. It wasn’t good for his voice, especially before a performance, but Qrow has always been weak to snacks, especially the stadium’s popcorn; since Clover has always been weak to Qrow, the duo had adorned hooded jackets and crept into the back of the line at a small kiosk to buy a bag. The blond standing there had grinned and given them a free bag of licorice too, quietly wishing him luck for the show.</p><p>It had been delicious. Qrow longs to eat that popcorn now, but the kiosk from which they had indulged is now toppled and halfway processed. Qrow winces as he looks behind the stand, footsteps tentative and unsure; there is a body there, almost entirely of black obsidian, surrounded by Tar leaking onto the nearby tiles.</p><p>“Arc, J.,” Clover announces after a moment, his voice breaking the heavy silence which echoes eerily through the strangely-still hall. “The vendor. This place seems empty except for him.”</p><p>
  <em>He was a kid. Wasn’t he Yang’s age?</em>
</p><p>Clover murmurs as Qrow brings the Harbinger close to the body, “Where did everybody go? Either way, we’re gonna get you out of here, kid.” Qrow’s heart only aches further as Clover adds, “…Blake says they all knew him, but- Qrow, he’s too far gone. The Grimm took him out. We’ve gotta go.”</p><p>
  <em>But-</em>
</p><p>“C’mon. They know we’re here.”</p><p>Biting his lip, Qrow keeps going, his footsteps echoing across black and white tile. The sound is piercing, the acoustics far too powerful as he makes his way to entrance he has used time and time again- the path backstage. As he runs, his eyes catch sight of another CCTS terminal, so he pauses to take a look at what lies are being spewed out by the City Council. “While the Council continues to investigate, downtown Vale and the boardwalk at Beacon’s edge is still offline,” the newest article reads in his feed. “All precautions are being taken to keep citizens safe-“</p><p>He stops reading there. <em>‘They’ve abandoned Remnant. Run. –Q.” </em></p><p>“Thank you for your response!” the screen supplies instantly.</p><p>His lips curl into a sneer, but there is no point waiting- not when they are so close to the start of it all.</p><p>The giant holoscreens which cover the walls still show enlarged versions of the poster Velvet had made for Qrow, alongside the image of a few other bands; as Qrow reaches the door to the hallway leading backstage, he pauses to check out the glowing CCTS terminal by the merchandise vending booth. He snorts, watching a poll appear on-screen; it is outdated by a few weeks, the subject line so bittersweet that he almost wants to cry.</p><p>“’Flynt Coal, Remnant’s leading jazz artist, versus Qrow Branwen, the soulful songbird of our world- who will be the one to perform in Amity?’” Clover reads aloud mournfully.</p><p>Qrow’s finger hovers over the poll. There is no point in participating- clearly, he had won, leading to this disgusting, horrifying mess- but he finds himself clicking Flynt’s name on the holoscreen anyways. Perhaps it is out of the childish desire to be free from this endless chase they are on. Perhaps it is from the desire to deflect, to escape, to flee.</p><p>Perhaps he should’ve gone to Patch when he had the chance, just like the rest of them.</p><p>The poll results pop up. Almost 80% of participants want Qrow to perform. The young trumpet player never had a chance.</p><p>But he does not know where Flynt Coal is. There is no way to know where anyone is- not anymore. <em>Ruby, Yang… where are you?</em></p><p>“Our girls will be okay,” Clover says, reading Qrow’s mind easily. “For now, let’s just- let’s just get back to it, okay?”</p><p>Qrow shudders, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against the clock face. The world goes dark, but Clover’s voice repeating that phrase over and over again- “Our girls will be okay, Qrow, don’t worry,”- is enough to keep him grounded, keep him on his feet.</p><p><em>Our girls. </em>Clover loves his nieces, too. They’ll find them. Somehow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This stage is beautiful.</p><p>Time and time again, he has walked this path circling from the dressing rooms, out past security doors and technician booths, all the way around the edge of the amphitheatre-like seating. He has climbed up these stairs rising up to the catwalk many times before, his footsteps finding assured, comfortable purchase upon the black runway lined with twinkling golden lights; his heels dig an automatic cadence into the structure, alerting the empty stadium of his presence.</p><p>Whether that rhythm so deeply engrained into his gait runs in time with militant instinct or the yearning, soulful songs indelibly carved into his very soul, he does not know. Either way, it does not matter, for he cannot hear the pacing of his own steps. His heartbeat thunders like drums guiding a march to war between his ears, drowning out nearly all other sensation, the ragged traces of his regenerative Aura all but dissipating just by that mere pressure in his skull. He is weak and aching, filled with such disbelief and anger and confusion as he walks over the crowd’s seating, closer and closer to the glittering lights of the stage proper. Spotlights still linger on, illuminating his path with a pomp and circumstance that leaves his mouth dry and ashen, the air far too still to be safe.</p><p>He does not want to be here. Something is coming. He does not know what, but the foreboding in his gut rings even louder now than it had before his performance that night- before everything had fallen apart.</p><p>But what choice does he have if he wants to find the truth?</p><p>“We’re finally here,” Clover breathes from the Harbinger’s clock face. Qrow pauses mid-step, taking a moment to simply lift up the blade, holding Clover’s glowing vehicle up to look at the vast seas of empty seats. Nothing in here looks processed, no Tar filling up this stadium- not yet. It looks just as pristine as it had during dress rehearsals twelve hours earlier.</p><p>It is beautiful. Qrow hates that it is so. This place was the start of everything, after all.</p><p>The runway ends in a small raised platform still housing a single microphone. Qrow shivers, his fingers reaching up to the lapel of his jacket; he has continued to carry Clover’s pin with him, even though his Singer shroud has been abandoned at home. Callused fingertips trace the silver detailing, but even that familiar motion is not enough to soothe the ache in his heart as he glances upwards, blinded by the lights shining down upon him.</p><p>This had been his stage. He should’ve been able to sing.</p><p>“When I first saw you tonight on this stage, Songbird, I…” Clover trails off, the clock face dark for a painfully-long breath. “Everyone loved you tonight, you know that?” The shift in his tone is clear as he adds, “Everyone <em>except them.</em>”</p><p>He closes his eyes. Yes, he remembers; he can still feel the heat of the lights, so much hotter thanks to the burning fires of the audience’s gaze, so strongly focused upon him that he could barely breathe as the music had begun.</p><p>He takes in a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Allows the world to go dark, his mind visualizing the scene- replaying the music perfectly where his own voice cannot, even as he exhales as if to hum, his nose vibrating as if to produce sound where there is none. The sentiment is clear, however, for nothing can ever erase the pure, undeniable <em>fear </em>that had flooded his pores, drowning him to the very core, stealing away the very breath from his lungs during that performance.</p><p>He hadn’t wanted to perform in Amity that night. However, performances at Amity were streamed across Remnant without fail. <em>I just wanted Ruby and Yang to know where to find me- I’m still here, and I’m waiting for them, I’m looking, I’m not giving up-</em></p><p>But rather than thoughts of his nieces, what overtakes him is the undeniable, horrifying image of the quintet who had crashed onstage mid-song, destroying any chance he had had of ever reaching out to his girls. After all, with the largest man in the group wielding the Harbinger, his expression merciless as he had thrown the extended blade with the force only a true soldier could muster, there had been no time to focus on the music, on his performance.</p><p>His heart aches at the mere thought of it. It does not matter that the faces of their assailants had belonged to those he had once called his friends, for Clover has always been far too good at his job, and being Qrow’s protector here in Remnant is no exception. The younger man hadn’t even hesitated to throw himself in between the singer and the blade, the Harbinger cutting through Clover’s chest so cleanly that the tip had still managed to slice through Clover’s body and into Qrow’s own ribcage.</p><p>And then, Qrow had been transported off to the edge of Vale, bleeding from a wound his Aura was barely able to heal, his delicate shroud falling to tatters around his torso. The only two things he had been able to process past the searing pain in his chest and the dizzying static in his eyes had been the light of a nearby CCTS Terminal and Clover’s voice in the distance, the words too fuzzy to make out.</p><p>Even now, he remembers the poll on-screen. “Build a bridge to the Emerald City! Sign the petition today.” Numbly, he had agreed, to which the system’s OS had automatically replied, “Only 48,559 signatures to go!” He had barely given it a second thought, however, for constructing bridges to one of Remnant’s most notoriously-glitch-filled sectors was not a priority when Clover sounded like he was in pain.</p><p>“Qrow? Qrow, where are you?” the bodyguard’s voice had called, frantic and breathless and terrified beyond his wits. Qrow had shuffled onwards, his eyes blurring in and out of focus as he felt his code be rewritten frantically, his Aura trying desperately to correct whatever damage had been done by the nick of the blade. He had focused upon Clover’s voice, the younger muttering, “Gods, if he’s hurt I’ll- I’ll- I’ll what? I’ll just-“</p><p>And then, he had seen it- the blade, the concrete barrier… and Clover’s body.</p><p>“You’re alive,” Clover had breathed, his voice coming not from the bleeding, broken body splayed out on the pavement, but from the <em>sword</em>. “Me, I’m… I’m not so sure.”</p><p>Qrow had opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. No sound had come out. He had vomited.</p><p>“I know this looks bad, but I could use some help.” With each word, the clock face upon the blade had lit up, illuminating the horrible image of Clover’s pinned body upon the slab before him.</p><p>Qrow had tried to sob. He couldn’t.</p><p>“Hey,” Clover said after a moment, “Songbird… say something will you-“</p><p>“<em>Oh no.”</em></p><p>Qrow’s eyes snap open, his breath rushing into his lungs. He does not know how long he has stood upon that stage, gripping fruitlessly onto a microphone that projects nothing but his breathing into the empty stands; however, sometime during his recollection, the stage lights had shifted into a warm, fiery red, flooding the stage with a glow that rings far too reminiscent of the colour left behind on Clover’s body, back in the alleys of Vale. He sucks in a haggard breath and turns to meet what had made Clover gasp, heart dropping to the floor like an anchor, causing his feet to drag as he pulls himself along.</p><p>There is a processed figure standing upon center stage. He knows this figure, despite the fact that the upper half of her body has been completely reduced to expressionless black obsidian; he recognizes the blade she wields, for in her hands is a white, thin rapier, the insignia of the Schnee Dust Company shining upon the hilt. He has sparred against this rapier time and time again, both in and out of Remnant- to see it so soon, however, sends his stomach into a roiling simmer, making him want to retch yet again from the mere memory.</p><p><em>Winter Schnee… are you part of the ‘Circle’? Why are you on this stage? </em>He trembles, slowly unfurling the Harbinger in his hands, ready to strike. This young woman must be a victim in all this, he tells himself- there is no way that his Ruby’s best friend’s older sister is part of the group that has unleashed hell upon their city.</p><p>The figure begins to move, to jerk, to twist and turn until its body is standing upright, facing him with Tar dripping from its fingertips. His fingers tighten around the corded grip of the Harbinger.</p><p>
  <em>Winter, why did you try to kill me?</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's hereEEEEEEEE</p><p>This is honestly my favourite part of the entire game. It just sets the stage for what's going to happen so beautifully. I hope I've done it even a modicum of justice, even though I've changed quite a bit to suit my own nefarious plans...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He remembers the first time he had met Winter Schnee. At the time, she had already been working hard as the assistant to Atlas’ representative councilman, James Ironwood; Qrow had met the man only a few times over, thanks to a shared connection to the genius architect who had built half of Remnant himself. However, it had not been in the context of the workplace where he had first met Winter Schnee.</p><p>No, it had been a sunny day upon Beacon’s streets. The mass vote had asked for a slight breeze to accompany the brilliant sun, so the clouds had ambled aimlessly across a blue sky with all the ease in the world; he had been squinting against the light as he waited for Ruby, for his niece had wanted to go see a film with her friends. “I want to check out the new bridge first, though!” she had begged in her message to him. “Apparently there’s this whole park nearby, too! C’mon, uncle Qrow!”</p><p>Why he had tagged along to see a movie with a bunch of children, he did not know. Clover had been in the middle of another gig, so Qrow had been left to his own devices, and he did not get very many chances to see his little girls. Joining her had been the logical option, for he had had a few days off between shows, and it wasn’t every day that he was able to integrate himself into his nieces’ lives like this.</p><p>Winter had not thought it thus, immediately spitting acid at him when she had realized that her younger sister was familiar with this famed singer- this adult man. Qrow almost respects that protective nature, for Ruby had told him about the Schnees and their dysfunctionality. It does not excuse her bitterness, however. The famed former fencer-turned-politician’s aide had always been a little too much like her mentor, he found- the same militaristic, bleak way of analyzing a situation, the same aggression when faced with a situation she didn’t understand. The same refusal to admit that perhaps she was wrong.</p><p>The same look in her eyes that asked the same bitter, frustrated questions to him, none of which he could answer- albeit, her jealousy and frustration had always been a far cry from Ironwood’s, for Qrow’s voice had always been a far more effective tool than Ironwood’s policy at capturing the hearts of the masses. What particular qualms Winter has with Qrow, he does not know. Perhaps it has always simply been out of solidarity with Ironwood, out of the desire to defend her mentor.</p><p>James Ironwood is nowhere to be seen, however. Now, it is just a near-completely processed Winter Schnee standing before him, her body a horrifying caricature of what she had looked like only hours before.</p><p>“She’s 98% processed,” Clover warns. “Qrow, she <em>shouldn’t be moving. </em>We need to go.”</p><p>The Harbinger is already fully extended in his hands. Even if other folk are unable to move after being struck down by the Grimm, that would not stop Winter; if he knows anything about the young woman, it is that she is tenacious.</p><p>Tenacious, and <em>hungry. </em>For what, he has never bothered to find out. The sinking feeling in his gut tells him that today is the day to learn, whether he likes it or not- the rapier in her hand gleams in the light. She had not been a famed fencer for nothing, after all.</p><p>Suddenly, the partially processed body begins to move towards him, instantly setting him into high-alert. That is not all which begins to change, however; Qrow feels a chill run up his spine as he hears a familiar chord, a familiar percussive kick, fill the air, echoing through the empty stadium. Somber notes dance upon the still air, each beat of the quintuple meter Qrow had written in a drunken haze a few months earlier digging into his temple. The uncanny rhythm is not cute- not anymore, so unlike how it had been back when he had first written it, happy to mess with Clover’s drunken confuse and inability to comprehend any rhythm aside from common time. Now, though, this quiet song is merely ominous, the minor key jarring as he automatically steps away from Winter in time with the music.</p><p>Finally, Winter lifts her head- or at least, what remains of it. Somehow, he finds himself distantly missing his time on the battlefield, before he had entered Remnant. At least back then, his enemies had had <em>faces. </em>And yet, he can still hear Winter’s voice. <em>“Why is it you?!” </em>she asks, her unmistakeably dry voice strangely alive, strangely vibrant-</p><p>It is coming out of the speakers surrounding the stage.</p><p><em>Is it… is this pre-recorded? </em>Qrow wonders, lifting up the blade to aim the barrel at his foe. He fires off two shots, both of which land upon her shoulder, knocking the processed woman backwards; for a moment, the SDC logo hits the ground as she loses her grip on her rapier.</p><p>It is not a recorded voice, he realizes, for she screams in pain, her natural voice quickly shifting into something more inhuman- more synthetic, melding discordantly with the instrumental. <em>This is- what is happening to her?!</em></p><p>The shambling woman lifts up her blade, and with a decisive thrust that retains far more of its original bearer’s talent than he would like, the processed creature attempts to assault him. He dances out of the way thanks to Blake’s speed, leaving Winter slumped over in the spot where he had stood. He fires off more shots as the woman straightens up, and her cries continue; she continues to approach him, holding her rapier high. Her completely smooth, obsidian mask is still, although her tinny voice screams through the speakers, <em>“Why are you always-“</em></p><p>He dances out of the way, but not fast enough to avoid her completely- the tip of her blade slices into his cheek, eliciting a gasp of shock and pain as his Aura desperately tries to rewrite his code, patching up the wound. The sensation is strange. It is the first proper hit any of the monsters assaulting their world have managed to land onto him, and the feeling of being violated so deeply, down to his very <em>code, </em>surges through his being, causing him to almost vomit.</p><p><em>“Able to win?!” </em>She pauses, throwing her head back to let out a long, horrifying scream.</p><p>“Qrow,” Clover cries, dragging Qrow’s attention away from his own suffering, “watch out!” Heeding that warning automatically, Qrow is barely able to avoid the hulking claws of an angry Grimm. “It’s a Beowolf,” Clover identifies in a heartbeat as Qrow stares at a wolf-like, menacing creature glaring at him through a mask of bone and a snarling mouth full of Tar. “She’s- she’s calling more Grimm?”</p><p>There is no need to even state that fact, for the more Winter’s piercing voice rings out into the empty stands, the more the stage grows filled with the shadowy creatures which have stalked Qrow all night. His grip upon his blade grows even tighter, stance hunkering down for a moment before he raises the blade to his forehead, closing his eyes and stopping the movements of the Grimm, giving himself time to plan.</p><p>
  <em>We just have to kill them all. No exceptions.</em>
</p><p>And so, he does.</p><p>His blade rends through acrid flesh before any of them can even attempt to swipe their claws at him, his movements calculated with a precision that is almost terrifying. The Tar splatters upon every surface, melting sections of the stage; he can practically hear the supports holding together moving parts of the center stage weakening, the creaking and groaning of the floor beneath his feet adding a sick layer of cacophonic percussion to an already-twisting track.</p><p>Winter’s vocals add a horrifying dimension to the already unsettling tune. “<em>Why can’t I win-“ </em>she cries as she misses another attack, her long, lanky limbs flinging off trails of Tar in their wake. “<em>Why do they choose you-“</em></p><p><em>I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid, </em>he wants to scream at her. There is no point of course- she is too far gone- but her anger is still palpable, the tone of her voice painfully dissonant with the harmonies in the music.</p><p>She continues to cry out with each attack, <em>“Why are you always-“</em></p><p>He parries them all away, cutting through the Grimm which flood the stage again and again in response to her pained cries.</p><p><em>“-better than me?” </em>she finishes, her voice booming through the speakers. It no longer sounds human, the warmth and fear and pain and anger in her voice now sounding digitized, filtered, as if she is naught but computer-generated thought and sound and speech.</p><p>“She’s losing herself, Qrow,” Clover pleads as Qrow turns away to slice through another Grimm. “We can’t just leave her like this.”</p><p>
  <em>She’s Ruby’s friend’s sister- I can’t just-</em>
</p><p>“She’s no longer Winter!”</p><p>Qrow groans, flicking the giant blade to the side, sending droplets of stinging, acrid Tar onto the stage where it singes the floor. Winter’s lurching, deathly body creeps towards him, her shoulders straightening as she assumes her stance once more- poised, ready to lunge, her blade gleaming in the fiery stage lights. <em>“Why don’t you ever-“</em></p><p>He presses the clock face up to his forehead. Time slows down, and he sucks in a deep breath, watching the processed woman’s path. Then, he opens his eyes, rushes forwards, and slices Winter’s arm clean off before impaling her with the Harbinger.</p><p>“-acknowledge me?”</p><p>Her face is still a blank mask of obsidian, but her voice no longer booms from the speakers surrounding the stage. Her body merely slips off the edge of his blade, landing in a pathetic, crumpled heap upon the floor, the grace in her motions in life somehow still guiding her to lay down with her fingertips extended, her lines clear and smooth despite the Tar oozing off her flesh.</p><p><em>You’re part of the group responsible for all this, Winter. You don’t deserve sympathy. </em>And yet, as Qrow looks down at her, he finds that his heart aches, for Winter Schnee is beautiful, Qrow realizes. In her humanity, that is- for that brief moment, he can imagine her face; she looks up at him with a mixture of pity and shame and longing, and he understands at last why perhaps she has always hated him with such a passion. It’s a shame, really- he wonders, once her sister and his niece were older, whether he and Winter would’ve ever been able to have a drink together. As friends.</p><p>Her body slumps to the floor. The last dregs of white upon her pantsuit disappear, her rapier melting into Tar before his very eyes. “You’re going to tell us everything you know about the Circle, Winter. Don’t you try and run,” Clover says firmly, exhausted.</p><p>With that silent command, Qrow plunges the Harbinger deep into Winter’s chest. The world lights up, the blade’s luminescence blinding him as it downloads her data- whatever traces of it are left, at least. <em>I’m not leaving you behind, kid. Not until you tell me what I want to know.</em></p><p>Clover seems to have a similar thought process, for the moment the light fades, the clock face is illuminated once more, the man’s voice crying out, “Where is the Circle hiding? Why did you do this, Winter?” He pauses. “What do you mean, you don’t know why? Do you know where they are, at least?” Another pause. “…downtown Mantle. Got it.” Finally, a quiet sigh, a pleading whisper. “What do you mean, you couldn’t find Weiss, either? So you don’t know about Ruby or Yang, either?”</p><p>Qrow has already begun to jog towards the back exit of Amity by the time Clover has found all the information he can from the fragment of Winter’s mind which now inhabits the Harbinger with them. He is not surprised at her lack of awareness- James Ironwood has never been good at giving up his secrets. He should’ve known he would go head-to-head with James one day- he’s never gotten along with the politician.</p><p>He’ll tear those secrets out of James if it’s the last thing he does. He has to, for everyone’s sake.</p><p>And then, Qrow will take the final plunge. This fight has just confirmed it- he knows what he needs to do in order to bring back his voice now, after all.</p><p>With that thought in mind, he hums lightly to himself. The wound on his cheek stings. He does not pay it any heed.</p><p>For the first time since the initial assault, his voice rings true through the air. The music from the stage is disappearing in the distance behind him as he winds through narrow hallways, leaving behind only the sound of his humming and his footsteps- somber, slow, husky notes following a minor chord, throwing Clover off-kilter. It is so sudden, so unexpected after the chaos onstage, that Clover begins to sob inside the blade at the sound of Qrow’s voice.</p><p>Through the dry sobs, he can hear Clover attempting to hum along, too. He cannot sing along, however- each step lands on the triplet. The quintuple signature has never been easy for Clover to grasp. Qrow doubts that will ever change, although he doesn’t mind; he doubts he’ll ever be singing this particular song ever again either, once he leaves Amity behind. It belongs to Winter’s stage- to Winter’s corpse- now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Let me know what you think if you're reading along &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We’re going to downtown Mantle. The Grimm will be waiting for us,” Clover breathes, his voice thick with emotion even after he has calmed down from his earlier breakdown. “Winter’s on our side now- she has no reason to lie about their location.”</p><p>Qrow looks over his shoulder at the door leading to the performer’s wing backstage, and his hands unconsciously lift up the Harbinger to his chest. The movements are tentative, slow; but soon, he has his arms wrapped around the main body of the weapon, pressing his cheek against the corded handle, watching the clock face press against his chest.</p><p>He hums. No words will form, as if his body has forgotten how to shape his husky, drawling voice into form, into meaning- but he does not mind. The fact that he can make any kind of sound at all is breathtaking, the liberation from being able to <em>exist </em>in his own ears lifting him into a higher bliss than anything else. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see a nearby billboard with the login count steadily ticking lower and lower, Remnant’s remaining citizens either falling away into the chaos of being processed, or fleeing the city entirely.</p><p>Maybe they are all going to Patch after all. He snorts, that idle thought interrupting his song. It would be wonderful if that were the case, but…</p><p>“It’s so good to hear you, Songbird,” Clover whispers, “but we’ve gotta go.”</p><p>
  <em>I know.</em>
</p><p>The backroads shall the best way to get out of Amity unnoticed, considering the heavy Grimm presence outside the main pathways leading to the cliffs; however, taking that route means that he has to leave Yang’s bike where it is. <em>I’m sorry, firecracker. We’ll be back, don’t worry. </em>But as Qrow kicks open the door of a cruiser parked just at the back emergency exits for the stadium, he feels his heart sinking further into his chest, his eyes betraying him as they flit between the path ahead and the stadium itself.</p><p>Gods<em>, </em>he wants to perform again. He wants to perform like he has nothing left, and then afterwards, he wants to order from A Simple Wok and eat in his pyjamas; he wants to spend all day hunched over his favourite music editing program, only unfurling his spine whenever Clover comes to stand behind him, carrying with him tea and food and warmth. He wants to call his nieces. He wants to sleep when he is tired. He wants to say <em>goodnight. </em></p><p>He wants this to <em>end.</em></p><p>“We’ll be back, Qrow,” Clover whispers from within the Harbinger, the clock illuminating the dashboard of the cruiser Qrow has so unceremoniously commandeered. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this, and then you’ll be performing- without the Circle, this time.”</p><p>Wincing, Qrow raises his hand to touch his nearly-healed cheek. Clover can say those pretty words all he wants, but the fact of the matter is that Qrow was muted; yet, after his injury from a processed creature- from what was basically a Grimm- his voice has returned.</p><p>Clover does not mention the fact that Qrow already knows, the weight of the truth looping tighter and tighter around his neck with every breath. Qrow’s data is corrupting. His Aura is weak, and if this keeps up, he doubts even any CCTS terminals will recognize his user. He’ll be naught more than a glitch. An error code.</p><p>…there are some things that Clover’s dumb, lucky faith cannot help with, even with his pin still affixed to Qrow’s lapel.</p><p>“Let’s go, Qrow.”</p><p>Qrow hums in response, tapping his Scroll onto the ignition column. Thankfully, it registers his user still; he is not too far gone yet, giving him the ability to properly switch the vehicle on. He guns down the road to the soundtrack of distant cacophony and the silence left in his old stage’s wake.</p><p>It is a few minutes before Clover finally begins to speculate in earnest. “If Winter was part of the Circle,” he murmurs, the blade laid across the passenger seat casting strange shadows into the back of the car, “you think she only got to know you because <em>they</em> wanted you?” Before Qrow can give him a sour look, Clover reasons, “I mean, it would make sense, in a way; wasn’t Winter’s sister the heiress of the Schnee Dust Company? Yeah, their father’s proposals to build more gentrified housing in Mantle were shot down by both of them, too, but Ruby was also pretty active in protesting not those, but the SDC in general. Not exactly the kind of friends one makes knowing you’ll inherit the mess someday. What if Weiss became close to Ruby on Winter’s behalf, and thus created a link to you-“</p><p>Qrow silently places a hand on the blade. <em>Stop it. </em>He does not want to think of his nieces being used for whatever the Circle’s plans entail- but surprisingly enough, he also does not want to listen to anyone calling Winter a liar. The young woman’s voice had been too broken, too <em>yearning </em>as she had fought against him, to call her naught but a cog in whatever sick, twisted machine has caused all of this chaos.</p><p>She isn’t- wasn’t- <em>isn’t? …no, wasn’t-</em> a bad person. More than anything, Qrow simply pities her.</p><p>Either way, however, their destination is near. “She said downtown Mantle,” Clover says quietly as their arrival point looms ahead, “but I have a feeling I know where she meant for us to go.”</p><p>
  <em>Take the lift from downtown Mantle to Atlas. To the heart of the Grimm infestation. </em>
</p><p>“To the Academy,” Clover whispers.</p><p>After all, wherever Winter Schnee was, James Ironwood would not be far behind. If the Atlesian councilman was a part of all of this…</p><p>Well, Qrow knew the way to his office, high above upon the floating cityscape of Atlas. Whether they would be able to get there or not was a different story.</p><p>Qrow finds that he does not mind the journey, however. He places a hand upon the clock face, stroking it absently while he steers with the other. He needs to make this voyage <em>count.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is something about Mantle which never agrees with Qrow, no matter how many times he has been here in the past. The performance halls here are numerous, so each street is honestly far more familiar than he would like; amidst the eternal red glow which seems to emanate off of the city’s neon lights and roaring hearths at the center of the dark, grungy town, he always finds himself getting lost, getting swallowed up by shadows.</p><p>Clover has always been able to hold his hand, to keep his path through alight. Now, all Qrow can do is tighten his grip upon the corded handle of the Harbinger as the vehicle rips down the road, a trail of smoke rising in his wake.</p><p>At last, they arrive at the gates of the city, the bridge leading them into the main grid of streets and avenues clear of all destruction. Qrow winces as he realizes just how little of this area has been attacked, the Tar’s clear markings nowhere to be seen. That discomfort quickly turns to a roiling in his gut, a wave of nausea washing over him as he looks down, only able to catch the briefest glimpse of oozing black liquid drowning the outskirts of the lower levels of the city. There is a river, quickly turning into a full-on <em>moat, </em>of Tar pooling below the bridge, lapping up the sides of the wall surrounding Mantle. From within its murky, glassy waters, Qrow can see hints of white bone and glowing red eyes, ready to spring forth at a moment’s notice.</p><p>
  <em>This place is doomed. We’ve gotta go.</em>
</p><p>He parks the car haphazardly just inside the wide-open gates, grimacing as he looks up towards the path. Whilst the outskirts of the city had appeared relatively unscathed by the night’s assaults, it is clear from the moment Qrow turns their getaway vehicle onto the main roads that the civilians have not gotten through the first few waves of Grimm unscathed. Everywhere he looks, fires sprout from the tops of buildings, storefronts shattered and lampposts toppled. Cars are overturned left and right, the ground littered with half-processed bodies left behind to rot amidst the crumbling world.</p><p>There is no longer any room left to drive through the rubble, so Qrow slips out of the car and begins to run. He needs to get to the central gondola station; once he arrives there, he’ll be able to methodically make his way up to Atlas. The high rises in Mantle are plentiful, though, the city almost as multi-tiered as Mistral, leaving him little choice but to take small steps of progress each time.</p><p>As long as they can make it up there to hunt down James Ironwood, that’s all that matters. It has to be.</p><p>Suddenly, Clover whispers, “Qrow, watch it!”</p><p>Qrow skids to a halt, glancing down the street. Blocked by a barrier of overturned, burning vehicles is a Grimm watching them from a distance, its almost feline mouth curled lasciviously upwards below the mask covering its eyes. Qrow gulps as the creature spreads out large, wide wings, coming to attention as it straightens out its back, watching him carefully.</p><p>It does not attack. Clover begins to hum, finally muttering, “It’s a Manticore.” Louder, he calls out, “Hey there, buddy. You all alone?”</p><p>The feline shadow monster does not respond, simply leaving its glowing eyes trained upon the singer. Qrow lifts up the Harbinger carefully, raising the barrel upon the blade straight and true.</p><p>Then, they are off again before the Grimm is even able to hit the ground, dead.</p><p>A few streets down, they are offered another insight into the town. Originally, Qrow only approaches it hoping to see if there are updates on out-of-order gondolas- <em>It’ll save us a hell of a lot of time if we know which ones are canned; there’s </em>always <em>something not working, even on good days, </em>he thinks bitterly- but as he taps his Scroll upon the scanner, his hopes are dashed in an instant. <em>I guess they don’t need to give any real updates with the login count this small, </em>he thinks in a daze as his eyes land upon the dwindling numbers at the top right of the screen. <em>There’s less than five hundred left.</em></p><p>There had been <em>millions </em>logged in twelve hours earlier.</p><p>…he only hopes that they were able to escape- to Patch, or to reality, or to <em>anywhere. </em>He hopes with all his heart that they have not all been processed. However, with the amount of bodies covering the streets with obsidian and horror, he has little choice but to squash that hope into nothing.</p><p>The screen lights up with the terminal’s newest command. ‘<em>Your vote matters to us! How would you like to see the upcoming eclipse scheduled in 47 days? Tell us what colour sky you would like as the backdrop to this gorgeous event!’</em></p><p>Qrow closes his eyes and hums in order to catch Clover’s attention, his warbling voice cutting through the crackling smoke surrounding them from above. Clover murmurs, “You always liked looking at the moon with a clear sky, right?”</p><p>Nodding, he presses the option for a deep indigo sky, rolling his eyes as the classic, “Thank you for your response! You and 33% of Remnant have voted. Only 47 days left!” alights across the holoscreen before he is logged out automatically.</p><p>Somberly, Clover comments, “The skies look blue because we want it to.”</p><p>The words make his skin crawl. He does not know if Clover truly recalls, for he has been in Remnant for so, so long- but Qrow does. Qrow remembers when the colour of the sky meant something, when it wasn’t just a choice to be made like what they were ordering for dinner.</p><p>He lets out a long, shaky breath. He misses that sky- the <em>real </em>one.</p><p>There is no time to wax philosophical on the benefits (or lack thereof) of the votes regarding a sky he’ll never get to see, however, so Qrow begins to run once again. The city of Mantle is large, but he refuses to give up- not when they are so close.</p><p>As they draw closer to the gondola station, the wreckage is far less noticeable. The gardens in community squares and the small recreational parks which surround this wealthier district are relatively untouched by the Grimm, causing Qrow and Clover to both sigh in relief, Qrow’s footsteps slowing to a stop upon the cobblestone.</p><p>Clover says quietly, “It looks like there might still be civilians here… do you think some of them haven’t evacuated yet?”</p><p><em>No way to know, </em>Qrow thinks wearily. <em>They might have hid out in their homes, since this place hasn’t been hit that hard.</em></p><p>He does not need to speak. Clover understands, immediately replying as if he had heard Qrow’s thoughts, “Hey, I want to try something.” Clearing his throat, he yells loudly, his voice filling up the square, echoing between the tall building surrounding them, “<em>Hey! Is anyone out there?”</em></p><p>No response. “Well,” Clover chuckles wearily, “it was worth a shot.”</p><p>Qrow’s blood runs cold the moment they turn the corner, however. As they clear a large wall, Qrow is suddenly able to see a few intersecting streets all leading to this central park- each one of the dark alleyways shrouded by shadow is filled to the brim with glowing red eyes through bone-white masks, wings spreading, dripping maws falling agape to reveal Tar and something <em>glowing-</em></p><p>“Qrow, <em>run!</em>” Clover screams.</p><p>He does not need to be warned twice. Before Clover’s words even fully permeate in the air, he is sprinting towards the end of the square, his legs pumping faster than his brain can even comprehend. Behind him, the sound of explosions and shattering glass and wood echo in his brain, but he does not turn back; he closes his eyes, focusing on channelling the strength which Blake’s data is able to instill into his bones, gifting him the speed he needs to escape. He climbs emergency stairs and fire exits, leaping across low rooftops and rushing up each ramp he can find.</p><p>Finally, the explosions stop. He pauses, gasping for air, staggering over to the edge of the small overlook upon which he stands; he is midway up the city, drawing closer and closer to the gondola station that shall bring him to the lower levels of Atlas’ floating body above them all.</p><p>“There were probably fifty of those things,” Clover says once Qrow can finally breathe again. “I cannot believe they’re all just… <em>waiting.”</em></p><p>Qrow does not share this sentiment, however, for he is immediately distracted by the view from this overlook; although the city has never looked <em>good, </em>it is downright apocalyptic now, the fires tearing the city to embers more sickeningly brilliant than neon glows could ever be. What catches his eye the most, however, is the fact that the skyline is not only burning, but also… different. Changed.</p><p>As if something has been outright… <em>deleted.</em></p><p>“Whatever this is,” Clover murmurs, still focused on the herd of Manticores that had been blasting fire at him all the way here, “its spreading. This city is falling apart.”</p><p>Qrow lifts the Harbinger up so that the clock face rises above the waist-high railing, then points into the distance, humming quietly until the other man stops talking, his words swallowed up by his shock.</p><p>After a minute of silence, Clover finally voices what has been haunting Qrow all this time. “Shade Towers is gone, huh? I guess it’s been completely deleted… or maybe the Tar got to it too much.” He pauses, sucking in a haggard breath, the noise slightly tinny from the clock face. “Plus, the statue of the Wyvern… the one that used to sit atop Mount Glenn? That… It’s not just me, right? It’s gone, too.”</p><p>The foreboding in Qrow’s gut doubles in strength, Clover’s observation only highlighting it. <em>This doesn’t make sense. Deleting Shade Towers- fine, that works, there’s a lot of people who live there. Prime location for an attack. But why the statue?</em></p><p>A part of him begs him to leave as soon as possible- so, he does. He does not want to know what this unease truly spells out for them. This journey is already too painful.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Grimm are relentless in their assault- but even more relentless are the familiar faces he finds upon the ground as he makes his way through each tiered level of Mantle, each stricken visage permanently engrained behind his eyelids. Here, he finds Bartholomew Oobleck, a former professor in the Academy; he had been an old drinking buddy, always happy to share a round and a story of his students’ stupidity. There, he finds Peter Port, a jolly old war veteran whose antics never failed to make Qrow laugh- whose understanding of what Qrow has been through always provided a silent, unspoken sense of solidarity between the two. Their data traces are barely existent, but he takes them along anyways.</p><p>After all, the other faces which he recognizes amongst the bodies are too far gone to take with them. He needs to save those he can.</p><p>His lungs burn, arms straining under the weight of the Harbinger by the time they arrive at another terminal. There is a sense of calm in the air; tucked into this quiet nook of town on a small balcony level halfway up Mantle’s true height, there are no Grimm here to assault him. The only image which is frightening is the shifting skyline, the seas of black glass and Tar spreading as far as the eye can see.</p><p>He snorts as he logs into the CCTS terminal using his Scroll. The smoke, the fire and destruction… it does not even bother him anymore, does it?</p><p>
  <em>It’s like I never left the battlefield.</em>
</p><p>The very thought makes him sick.</p><p>The holoscreen lights up, casting sickly green-blue hues upon his face, upon the Harbinger’s blade. <em>‘The disappearance of Shade Towers and the thousands of residents within: what could be responsible?’</em></p><p>As his eyes skim the article, Clover voices what haunts Qrow the most. “It’s not just us going crazy, Qrow,” he murmurs, a tinge of disbelief in his voice. “We’re not crazy. That entire housing complex- it’s all <em>gone.</em>”</p><p><em>The Grimm, no doubt, </em>he thinks, head spinning, growing faint. To have an entire community <em>destroyed </em>so soundlessly like this… it is proof enough of the true power of the Grimm, of the processing that they can do. They are not only corrupting the data of Remnant itself- they are <em>devouring </em>it.</p><p>With trembling fingers, he types, ‘<em>If anyone’s reading this, get out as soon as you can, especially if you’re near Shade Towers. You’ve got to get out. –Q.’</em></p><p>“Songbird,” Clover breathes, “you know that if anyone’s near there…”</p><p><em>It’s too late for them. </em>He grits his teeth, ready to log out of the terminal-</p><p>But then, he pauses, glancing at the screen. He has submitted this answer. He has put in his comment. However, instead of receiving the usual, “Thank you for your response!” he instead sees a different message: “Thank you! Your comment has been sent in for moderation.”</p><p>His heart plunges to the soles of his feet as he logs out, hoisting the Harbinger onto his hip as he begins his journey once again. He does not need to acknowledge it; Clover is always able to pick up exactly what he wants to say, the clock face glowing eerily as he murmurs, “Who the hell is <em>censoring us?</em>”</p><p>It is the Circle. It must be. They are responsible for everything.</p><p>Thankfully, he is not able to dwell on that topic for too long, for they are finally approaching the gondola station at last. Qrow recognizes these streets; he has run along them over and over again in the past, late-nights after shows in seedy joints always the better for the strange, hilarious company he was always able to find from his audience. It has always been a pleasure to throw off his Singer shroud, to throw away the piece marking his designation and to go as an unassigned person alongside Clover to each small, dimly lit pub which fills this downtown area of Mantle.</p><p>At least, once upon a time, it had been a pleasure.</p><p>“How many good drinking joints used to be around here?” Clover comments as Qrow unfurls the Harbinger, slicing through predatory Creeps and stalking, fireball-spitting Manticores. He flicks the blade, sending Tar splashing across the street, decomposing the brickwork into obsidian within seconds. “We used to meet all our fans, until…”</p><p><em>Until things went south, </em>Qrow supplies silently, instinctively. <em>Until fans started getting aggressive. Until my voice starting causing them to… to </em>believe<em> in fairy tales, in my songs</em>.</p><p>He remembers well, how his singing had begun to grow out of control. It had begun in these shady streets of Mantle, in the pristine halls of Atlas above; perhaps that is why he holds the place in such low regard, for his most recent experiences here- albeit lit up by the few comrades who would always treat him like a <em>person </em>before a <em>Singer- </em>have all been filled with strife, with riots, with crowds growing out of control and people falling out of their uniform, democratic line.</p><p>It’s… strange, to know that he will never again perform in this district, even in secret performances. He almost misses that chaos of rioting crowds compared to the horrors infesting Remnant tonight.</p><p>His feet remain true, though, finally bringing him to the avenue leading up to the gondola station. Even at the end of the road, he can see the lights of the machinery flickering, indicating their activity. With his Scroll, they should be able to activate everything, rising up to the interconnecting stations built up the side of Atlas’ floating cityscape until they reach Atlas Academy itself, where James Ironwood houses his offices. They’re almost there.</p><p>“Qrow, wait,” Clover says suddenly. Qrow obeys, slowing to a halt, massaging his aching thighs as he props the Harbinger on the ground, leaning the handle against his chest. Before them stands a giant wall, formerly covered with a large mural painted by the street artist Neon Katt- he remembers the way vivid colours had once shone so brightly that there hadn’t been any need to install streetlights upon the street proper, for the distant skylights and the eternal red tint of Mantle itself had always been enough to illuminate this path to Atlas’ gondola station.</p><p>It is all black now. Nothing but processed, shattered material.</p><p>“This is what the Circle wants our town to be, I guess,” Clover mutters, voice scathing and bitter. “This is the world they’re building- this what they’re taking away from us.”</p><p>Qrow is too tired to be angry, though. He just wants answers. So, he hooks the Harbinger back on his belt, strokes the clock face lovingly, then runs off towards the station. There is no time to waste.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The gondola’s gears whir to life, his Scroll’s access codes causing the machinery to spring to action. His stomach tumbles slightly as he feels the ground beneath his feet begin to shift, raising him higher along the line to the lowermost levels of Atlas. The crane which operates this lift is massive, the column leading them high above even the highest buildings in Mantle within moments; he will never be accustomed to this distance, to his engrained fear of the inevitable <em>fall.</em></p><p>However, for the first time, he does not focus upon the sheer magnitude of the elevator lift’s reach; instead, he can only look upon the cityscape above, for it is still pure and untouched by the Tar. Even from this distance, he can see the shimmer of white buildings. Although there are fires raging, plumes of smoke billowing from Atlas Academy’s towers, it is still clear that it is nowhere near as badly affected as the rest of Remnant.</p><p><em>James, you bastard, </em>he thinks bitterly, <em>you’ve been hiding up here, haven’t you? Goddamned coward.</em></p><p>“On your left,” Clover says, breaking him out of his thoughts. He sounds utterly defeated, the perfect mirror to Qrow’s own exasperation as the man lifts his blade, firing off shots against incoming Manticores flying towards him upon the lift. He jumps out of the way as the very air seems to tear in two, Beowolves stepping out of each rift with their hulking forms and dripping maws. “We never get any goddamn peace, do we?”</p><p><em>That would be too damn easy, Clover, </em>Qrow retorts silently. As it is, he simply brings the blade up to his forehead and closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath as the world stills, as the program pauses- as the Grimm halt in their tracks, giving him time to plan his assault.</p><p>Soon enough, the battle is won. He pants from the exertion as the gondola rolls to a halt. He totters out of the lift the moment the protective railings come down, granting him access to the lower levels of Atlas; the streets are smoothly paved still, not a single destroyed car or processed body to be seen. It seems calm, when all is said and done.</p><p>Suddenly, a strange noise catches his attention; he glances up, trying to locate the source of what was undeniably a <em>bark. </em>Are animals still left in the city?</p><p>He can feel the blood draining away from his face as a giant, hound-like Grimm steps out from around the corner, stalking towards them on all fours like a proper hellhound. <em>Of course it wouldn’t be Grimm-free, even if it isn’t processed yet.</em></p><p>“Oh, great,” Clover mutters. He pauses, likely searching the Harbinger for information. “It’s classified as a Sabyr.” Raising his voice, he cries, “Down, boy! We don’t wanna hurt-“</p><p>The beast is cleaved in two before Clover can finish his sentence. Qrow has no time nor energy to play these games; after all, as he looks at the wall, he can see the count continuing to drop alongside the hope in his gut, and it will make him retch here and now if he does not keep moving, if he does not keep <em>running.</em></p><p>They do not need to discuss their plans. It is easy enough to cut through to the next gondola which can carry them upwards simply by cutting through Dr. Pietro Polendina’s clinic- the physician and inventor had been a friend of Clover’s, an acquaintance of Qrow’s, and his office is tucked far enough out of the way of the main streets that they shall likely be able to find even a modicum of respite there. So, Qrow runs, cutting down the Grimm without hesitation as he tears his way through these lower streets of Atlas.</p><p>Dr. Polendina’s clinic is just as neat and tidy as ever. There is a small bowl of candy upon the counter; absentmindedly, Qrow pops a pear-flavoured candy drop into his mouth, sighing in relief as the sweetness perks him up a little. However, the clinic itself is painfully empty.</p><p>“I hope he wasn’t processed,” Clover murmurs wearily. “He… he’s a good man.”</p><p>Qrow does not bear any hope for the man’s survival, for his eyes are drawn to the holoscreen projected alongside one wall in the waiting room of the small clinic. The message on the screen is clear, the loop of the recent news updates blaring starkly in the white room, casting a neon-green tinge upon the wall- sickly, deathly, foreboding.</p><p>‘<em>Reports are showing that 66% of Remnant has been corrupted by this mysterious assault on the world’s code.”</em></p><p>They do not exchange words about this. Qrow merely chews, shattering the hard candy in his mouth. It is not nearly as satisfying as it should be; so, he forces his way to the back exit of the clinic, pushing through fire doors and kicking away a Creep waiting outside the back alley before it has the chance to bite into him.</p><p>“We’re close, Qrow,” Clover says, his voice as calming and determined as ever as they turn back onto the last stretch of road before the next station. “Let’s head ou-“</p><p>And suddenly, his voice drops off, the pitch altered as if with an unseen knob. The clock face alights, then darkens, lights up, darkens-</p><p>Qrow’s blood runs cold as he looks down at the blade, but it is not the distinctly red hue creeping into the clock face that terrifies him, nor is it the fact that Clover begins to slur almost <em>drunkenly, </em>his voice crackling with static, “Q-Qrow… I feel… kinda funny,” with little oblivious chuckles in between.</p><p>It is the giant shadow that suddenly dims his vision, passing above them so quickly that Qrow does not even have a chance to look up at regard what is so large it can blot out even the light of the fires consuming the world. Something is out there.</p><p>Qrow runs, and he does not look up. He knows where to go- he shall take Clover there safely, he swears it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you're reading along, let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yanno, I never… I never thought mu- much of… Atlas.” The crackling voice giggles, words slurring together, completely losing their sense of reason. “Always… so schtuffy… even when I worked there, yanno?”</p><p>Qrow does not respond, allowing Clover’s mumbling to permeate the air as he concentrates all his energy on running. He has seen the shadow time and time again flying over top of him, the presence of <em>whatever </em>is stalking him filling his periphery with increasingly-shorter intervals between each appearance.</p><p>He never looks up. He refuses to.</p><p>Meanwhile, Clover continues to mumble, “It’s too far… from the water, yanno? Can’t fuckin’ fish there…”</p><p>Qrow’s brow only furrows further. Clover rarely swears- unless he is drunk, that is. What in the world is inhibiting him like this? What is causing his data to short-circuit? He prays there isn’t anything wrong with the Harbinger, that the blade is still uncorrupted. He has no idea where he would even begin to fix the strange weapon if something went haywire.</p><p>Jumping up the steps upon a set of emergency stairs two at a time, Clover continues to burble fairly incoherent fragments whilst Qrow runs. He allows these incoherent rambles to continue unchecked, though; it seems like there are no Grimm in this area, that strange Sabyr being the only one that had stalked them in the streets below. It is only once he reaches the top of this staircase that he places his fingertips upon the clock face, humming softly, catching Clover’s attention. <em>Quiet down, </em>he thinks. <em>We’ll get seen.</em></p><p>To his surprise and utter horror, Clover grunts in refusal. “I can’t, pretty bird,” he slurs the hands of the clock seeming to lag along with Clover’s vocal projection. “I can’t stop. If I stop, I’ll… stop… like… for good, right?”</p><p>Qrow’s mouth is coated with sour acid as Clover adds quietly, voice trembling, “I can’t… see anythin’, yanno? Where- what’s happening to me?”</p><p><em>Clover, please don’t say that, </em>please-</p><p>Before Qrow can even think of a response, the world upon that rooftop begins to shatter out of control. Rifts in the air appear out of the blue, more shadowy Grimm flitting out of the portals with glowing red eyes and maws dripping with Tar. The lights seem to dim, the processing of these lower levels of Atlas beginning slowly but surely as Qrow watches the world slowly darken.</p><p>And, out of nowhere, a piercing, earth-shaking roar, guttural and bestial and terrifying, fills the air, resonating through his eardrums with such force that he wonders whether it would have been better if the Harbinger had stolen his hearing, too.</p><p>This sudden shocking cry steals Clover’s voice away from him, leaving the blade heaving out pants and sobs of pain. There is no explanation, only wordless sobbing. Qrow has no time to ensure that Clover is okay; even though Clover is not coherent, the Harbinger cuts as cleanly as ever. They have no choice but to keep going.</p><p>Once the Grimm are dispatched and the scream that has shaken the world around them fades away into obscurity, Clover finally whispers, “Remember when the worst we had were jus… just some ol’ black walls?” He begins to snicker, the sound ungainly, harsh. “I miss that.”</p><p><em>What the hell is happening to him?! </em>Qrow wants to scream, clutching the Harbinger to his chest for a moment before kicking back into a jog. The next gondola station is near. They cannot afford to linger, but with every cackle of Clover’s intoxicated voice, Qrow wants nothing more than to hunker down somewhere and figure out what exactly is wrong with the man.</p><p>Around the next corner, he finds a terminal. He nearly slams his Scroll into it in his haste; rather than gaining anything concrete to hold onto in this chaos, however, the screen merely lights up with an emergency broadcast message blaring without restraint. <em>‘You need to evacuate. You need to evacuate. You need to-‘</em></p><p>The comments section is inaccessible. Too overrun, or perhaps too overloaded. Perhaps the whole CCTS is finally corrupted beyond repair. He prays it is not, but as he logs off, tucking his Scroll away and turning on his heel, there is little hope to be found in his heart.</p><p>As his feet finally land upon the next gondola, the lift’s railing raising, allowing Qrow to escape a trail of Grimm ash and patches of Tar processing the road behind him in his wake, Clover snorts suddenly. “You could always handle yourself,” Clover whispers, strangely sober compared to the pitching, stumbling tone his has adorned for what feels like eons now. “You’ll be fine, Qrow. You’ll be-“</p><p>Suddenly, the same loud, horrifying roar rips through the air once again. This time, however, Qrow cannot ignore it, dropping one hand off the corded, laced handle of the Harbinger in favour of covering his ears the best he can. It is ineffective, this ripping war cry tearing through his skull effortlessly, the pain enough to bring tears to his eyes, his Aura far too spent to protect him.</p><p>The giant shadow flies overhead.</p><p>Clover giggles, “Whazzat?” Before Qrow has a chance to trace his fingers upon that reddening clock face, Clover simply sighs, as if contented by a good meal, not a breath of awareness of their plight remaining in his heady state. “I’m sure iz nothin’, birdy. I’m sure iz fine…”</p><p>Qrow does not laugh with him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Also, I just started a silly little fancast, <strong>The Good Beans</strong>, where I ramble about media that makes me happy. Check out episode 1 <a href="https://anchor.fm/faulty-paragon/episodes/The-Good-Beans-Episode-1---Kingdom-Hearts-2-Eternal-Summer-Vacation-enjorh">here!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Also, I just started a silly little fancast, <strong>The Good Beans</strong>, where I ramble about media that makes me happy. Check out episode 1 <a href="https://anchor.fm/faulty-paragon/episodes/The-Good-Beans-Episode-1---Kingdom-Hearts-2-Eternal-Summer-Vacation-enjorh">here!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Atlas… looks safe.</p><p>As he steps off of the gondola onto the uppermost level of Atlas, his chin lifts, eyes sweeping across perfectly-clean streets and elegant, decorative fountains and statues and architecture lining the main road. His mouth automatically curls into a frown as he notes the cars parked in neat rows, not a hair out of place; perfectly manicured gardens in partitions and nooks along the avenue add a splash of colour which contrasts wonderfully with this tepid snowfall that continues to linger, continues to fall, as if wholly unbothered by the fact that Atlas Academy still touts spigots of smoke from its spires.</p><p>A chill crosses over his skin, raising the hairs upon the back of his neck. It is not out of fear, nor the cold; it is mere discomfort, for he does not recognize this street. He has been to Atlas a million and one times before, and yet, he does not recognize anything whatsoever.</p><p><em>It’s the elites, </em>he thinks sardonically, exhausted legs automatically beginning a light jog down the road towards the Academy in the distance. <em>Everything is always decided by vote, so obviously these pampered fools would jump on any trend. </em>He snorts, feeling no amusement. <em>Now if only people here weren’t so backwards about human rights…</em></p><p>He does not linger on that thought for long, gaze fixated upon his target. It is honestly a miracle that, despite the constant reconstruction and renovation and destruction and rebuilding of Atlas’s main, wealthiest tier, that Atlas Academy remains unchanged. He knows of amendments that have been put to the vote, but with the way the government working out of Atlas operates, he knows in his heart that they likely always voted for stability.</p><p>In this city, nothing looks the same, and yet… Qrow still feels as if he would rather be anywhere but here. There is no comfort to be found in this veiled, thin veneer of calm.</p><p>Without the Grimm, the only indication of the monsters which have haunted his footsteps all night are the plumes of smoke from the Academy and the tinge of red which has consumed the darkening sky. Normally upon Atlas, with its high vantage point, the lights of Vale and Beacon and Mantle and the distant Mistral are all visible; Shade Towers normally hosts events, their multicoloured spotlights dancing across the air, the perfect mirror to Amity’s performance extravaganzas taking over the night.</p><p>There is nothing anymore- just red in the sky, the clouds indistinguishable from smoke.</p><p>Qrow turns the corner, griping silently at the addition of a new statue located in the centre of the road. It is utterly impractical; while he bitches and moans about the frankly ugly piece and its interruption of his gait, Clover suddenly begins to speak. “Qrow?” he whimpers.</p><p>As if struck by lightning, Qrow grows stock-still, raising the Harbinger so that his face is level with the clock face. Still tinged with red, he sees the green light flicker on, off, and on again; then, Clover breathes, “The… the dragon is coming…”</p><p>He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the clock. The world goes dark, still, silent; he hums, his body resonating with his song, the metal touching his skin thrumming with energy, with life, with <em>warmth.</em></p><p><em>What the hell is he talking about? </em>Qrow sighs, opening his eyes and resuming his path. With the Academy being as tall and imposing as it is, Qrow knows how to navigate the streets even though they are entirely unfamiliar; as long as he keeps the menacing spires in sight, he should be fine, he thinks.</p><p>At least, until he turns a corner. Feasting on the body of a nearly completely processed corpse are two Ursai, the giant, bear-like Grimm feasting on nothingness with a gusto that makes Qrow want to retch.</p><p>He does not get a chance to, however. Before he can blink, suddenly, the world explodes into a cacophony of sound. His eyes shut automatically to protect himself from the shrapnel, a burst of colour blinding him; when he is finally able to open pressed lids, however, all coherent thought fades away, leaving behind nothing but abject horror.</p><p>It is a giant, bone-covered Grimm- or, more accurately, the <em>tail </em>of a giant, bone-covered Grimm. White spikes dot and cover black, dripping flesh, red veins of energy pulsating with a heartbeat simultaneously too fast and too slow. It has landed to strike clean through the pavement, cutting through the processed obsidian corpse, and the ground below it. The Ursai which had been feasting in its place are now naught but scattered ash and Tar, little flecks splattered gruesomely across the white, formerly-pristine ground.</p><p>
  <em>We’re going to die.</em>
</p><p>He does not register the fact that he is running once again, his body screaming with every movement; the Harbinger is held haphazardly in one hand rather than being hooked back onto his belt. Perhaps it is out of reassurance, out of the need to even have the semblance of protection.</p><p>One true blow from that tail, and his data…</p><p>“See, Songbirdy?” Clover giggles, almost sounded delighted- clearly still completely out of his mind, with whatever ailment is destroying him growing more intense by the second. “See? It’s a dragon!”</p><p>Then, the tail lifts back into the air. Qrow’s heart stops beating for a moment as he feels the rush of wind which attacks his back as the tail strikes again, shattering the ground where Qrow had been standing just a breath earlier.</p><p>“Don’t mind us, big guy,” Clover slurs, nearly cackling, his voice filtered through static and haziness. “We’re just… headin’ out! Hey, Qrow? Qrow? Qrow?”</p><p>Qrow spares a moment to tap the clock face, blinking icy sweat out of his eyes as he tears down the lane.</p><p>“Qrow,” Clover begins to croon, “Songbird, light o’ my life… hey, where’s everyone?”</p><p>Qrow wants to weep as he turns the corner, only to find more rifts appearing in the air.</p><p>“Oh,” Clover chuckles like a child. “There they all are!”</p><p>
  <em>I can’t do this anymore.</em>
</p><p>His other hand reaches down to grip onto the Harbinger, but Clover sing-songs, “I see the dragon… it’s comin’, Qrow. Don’t- don’t let it see us.”</p><p>So, he takes in a haggard breath, clips the Harbinger onto his belt, and for the first time that night, he does nothing but <em>run.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here's yet another one! The following chapter should be coming pretty soon (I think?)</p><p>Let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It… off,” Clover gasps as Qrow silently heaves, doubling over, retching from the pit of his stomach as the exertion from running halfway across Atlas takes its toll on his burning legs. The roar of the creature which has been haunting them, stabbing through buildings and into sidewalks with its wretched tail, finally dissipates, giving them at last a moment to breathe. As the final quivers of its resonant screech fade away, Clover seems to regain some sense. “I think… it took off, Qrow.”</p><p>Qrow hums gently, stroking the clock face with his fingertips. <em>It’s that Grimm’s presence, isn’t it? That’s what’s messing with your system? Each time it goes away, you can speak again-</em></p><p>His theory is proved immediately correct as Clover begins, “C’mon, Songbird. We should go-o- ugh-“</p><p>His body reacts faster than his mind can. Qrow is sprinting forward just as the roar rips through the air once more, every fiber of his being screaming as a giant shadow passes overhead, circles, and hovers above him; Clover’s gasps and stuttered screams must be engrained permanently into his memory forever. Small side streets and hideaways are abandoned promptly in favour of open spaces, for main avenues provide him far more room to run and dodge the attacks which are mercilessly destroying the city around him.</p><p>Finally, he finds himself at the base of the hill leading up to Atlas Academy. More a public affairs offices than a research institution, it is at the top of this hill, at the very top of the Academy, where he will find the office of James Ironwood- where he might finally find some answers.</p><p>There is a long, long way to go, however. First, he needs to make it up this hill, this jagged rise covered in buildings which will guide him to the base of the Academy. <em>Once I’m inside, </em>he thinks frantically, <em>maybe that monster’s effects will calm down, too.</em></p><p>Gods, he hopes so.</p><p>There is no more time to think beyond that, for the walls shatter and the world breaks every time he hesitates for even a moment. Every time he spares a breath, a moment, to look up into the sky, he can see the horrifying visage of a white mask lined with red, blood-like glowing veins staring back down at him- or, perhaps, the Harbinger is its target. There is no way to know for sure, nor is there a need to. He just needs to get away.</p><p>There are smaller Grimm who appear through rifts in the air around every corner, but he has long since given up on attacking every single monster who gets in his way- he simply needs to reach his goal as soon as possible.</p><p>He wishes he could groan in annoyance, breath heaving as he runs up another fire escape two steps at a time, when Clover mutters drunkenly, “Y’know what… what I hate more than stairs, Birdie? Yanno? Yanno?” Qrow doesn’t have a chance to tap the clock face before he barrels onwards. “<em>Nothin’. </em>It <em>suuuuucks.</em>”</p><p><em>That’s a lie, you moron, </em>Qrow finds himself grumbling silently.<em> I know plenty of things you hate more. </em>Paperwork, for one thing- overly-sunny days, or loud music first thing in the morning, or lukewarm coffee, or-</p><p>He arrives at the rooftop of this building, streaking across it with a fervour which he has never found before within him. The sounds of the monster’s tail destroying the infrastructure around them have died- to confirm this, Clover clears his throat, the green glow from the clock returning slightly. “You know,” Clover murmurs, voice hoarse and haggard after the abuse it has been through, “I have a theory about what’s been causing my voice- my <em>head- </em>to do this.”</p><p>Qrow hums, waiting for the response as he shoots the doorknob off the locked door blocking his access to an adjoining building’s stairwell.</p><p>Clover sighs. “I think it’s that Grimm- that dragon-“</p><p>In the side of this new stairwell, there is a CCTS terminal. Qrow pulls out his Scroll automatically during this reprieve, ready to see what new, horrifying updates await him upon the holoscreen.</p><p>There is nothing. It… it doesn’t even connect.</p><p><em>‘We apologize for the inconvenience!’ </em>the screen spouts out at him, a crimson, glowing red bar scrolling across the top and bottom of the screen like a headline reel. ‘<em>This terminal has suffered an unknown issue and needs to restart. Please contact administrators in the Council to ensure this is done in the most efficient-“</em></p><p>He does not bother reading it, simply leaving the broken terminal behind. If it cannot connect to the CCTS- or, at the very least, whatever remains of the CCTS- then it holds no use to him.</p><p>“It’s finally crumbling,” Clover breathes, his voice glitching and spiking in tone, the face of the clock almost completely red. “I- I just-“</p><p>Qrow does not listen. It is too painful. If the CCTS is gone, then what actually keeps him here in this world?</p><p>He glances at the login count. Less than one hundred.</p><p>…he hopes his little girls got out okay. He hopes they will be safe. Perhaps they are in Patch.</p><p>…there are more stairs to climb.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This battle is over</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He can scarcely breathe by the time he makes it to the top of this stairwell. He needs to rest- his Aura is completely shot, his body protesting the mere act of <em>breathing. </em>It is a bittersweet realization; theoretically, he understands why in Remnant he cannot simply remain invisible forever, but it doesn’t change his irritation at the fragility of the human brain, of its inability to tolerate perceived pain, that which is just a fabrication of his mind.</p><p>He crouches down in the shadow of a small rooftop generator, laying his head onto the stucco wall as he gasps for air. There is little he can do but rest- he is too old for any of this, and years of the barest activity have robbed him of the stamina he used to boast as a soldier. So, his allows his eyes to scan the sky, nose crinkling at the smell and sound of fires continuing to burn in the distance, of Grimm ash and smoke colouring the formerly-snowy sky a putrid, bloody red.</p><p>While his heartrate calms down, Clover murmurs words of praise, of awe. “You’re doing so well, Qrow,” he whispers lovingly, proudly. “You’re so amazing. I’m so proud of you.”</p><p>Qrow does not have the energy to respond, nor does he have the energy to block out from his ears the tinge of shame colouring Clover’s voice. He knows Clover hates feeling helpless, but… this is where they are, and they have no choice but to accept their fate.</p><p>Once he is able to get back to his feet at last, Clover says, “Hey, Songbird. Wanna hear a funny joke?”</p><p>Qrow takes a few stumbling steps out of the shadow, humming softly. <em>Why not? </em>he thinks humourlessly.</p><p>He hears Clover take in a breath- why he always does so without a body, Qrow still does not understand- but his words are cut short by another sound- another roar ripping through the air, raising every hair on his body, sending shivers down his spine as he realizes just how frightfully close it begins, drawing closer and closer and closer-</p><p>“…nevermind.”</p><p>One moment, and the space at the edge of the rooftop is empty; the next, there is a giant figure hovering at the side of the complex, giant claws sinking into stucco and tile, transforming it into obsidian at a mere touch. A grim, disgusting visage bares white fangs dripping with Tar, golden-red eyes glowing like two miniature suns as they focus their heated attention upon Qrow, the lone figure upon this space.</p><p>Qrow finally recognizes it. This visage- he has seen it so many times rendered in beautiful stone, perched atop its former monument. It never used to have this mask of bone, these watchful eyes, this stench of death lingering off its skin.</p><p>This is the wyvern- the statue which has disappeared alongside Shade Towers. <em>It’s… more alive than I remember.</em></p><p>He does not ask questions. All he can do is fight<em>.</em></p><p>The battle is fierce. Violent. A war of attrition, of hiding behind patio chairs and the generator room atop the complex in an attempt to hide from giant, gnashing teeth and wrenching claws each time he manages to strike it with his bullets, with his blade. His entire body screams for rest, but there is none to be had unless he is able to defeat this monster; so, he carries onwards, desperate and frantic and broken, slashing wounds so deep that Tar drips down the sides of this complex in rivulets thick enough to turn the cityscape below him into shimmering, reflective black glass.</p><p>All battles must come to an end, though. Clover screams with every strike, so Qrow finishes it off. The two glowing eyes of the dragon bleed tears of Tar as he leaps onto its muzzle, stabbing the Harbinger deep and without remorse into shadowy eye sockets. Those final strikes are enough; as he extracts the blade and falls back down on his bottom onto the rooftop, the creature collapses, the only thing keeping it locked in place being the human-length claws dug in so inextricably from the side of the building itself.</p><p>He flicks the blade to remove the Tar. The beast is dead; yet, the clock face is still red. Clover still does not talk.</p><p>Without a word, Qrow staggers to his feet. He steps forward. He looks up at the visage of this monster which has stalked them across the floating city without remorse; for some reason, it does not yet dissolve as all other Grimm do. So, he walks to the edge of the rooftop, firing bullet after bullet clear into the side of its neck until there is a hole clean enough for him to wedge his blade into; then, in two quick motions, the Wyvern’s head is cut clean off.</p><p>It is inviting, the tunnel leading down into its innards, left behind after the head falls off the rooftop and into the city below without ceremony. So, Qrow walks, the red light of Clover’s crumbling identity lighting his way. He cannot run anymore- so, he shall stop the assault here and now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh… hi there, babe.”</p><p>As if he is awaking from a trance, those words finally register in his brain.</p><p>“Lookin’ a little rough there- still handsome, though, don’t worry.”</p><p>Qrow lifts his head, biting his lip as relief floods into his veins. Tears spring to his eyes unbidden as his awareness returns, his eyes locking onto the only thing that matters at this point: a glowing green clock face, lighting up each time Clover speaks, the hands of time finally moving forward without drunken, slurred interruption.</p><p>
  <em>He’s okay.</em>
</p><p>His arms wrap around the Harbinger, clutching the blade tight to his chest, forehead pressed against the clock face. He does not want to sob as he does, but he cannot stop himself; the fact that Clover’s data is no longer tainted fills him with such visceral comfort that he collapses, knees weak, body slumping to the Tar-covered floor. He knows he should move before it begins to process his data, but he just cannot bring himself to care.</p><p>“Qrow, what did you do?” Clover breathes, coming more and more into himself. “You’re <em>covered </em>in this- it went dark for a while, it just <em>hurt </em>and now- what happened?”</p><p>His sobs wrack his shoulders, shame rising up into his throat, blocking out even his ability to hum a melody. He cannot breathe; he just needs Clover to keep <em>talking, </em>to keep breathing, to keep showing off that green-tinged glow from the Harbinger’s hilt in order to prove his sanity- in order to prove that the horrifying act he has just committed is actually worth it.</p><p>Thankfully, Clover understands. “…you killed the dragon, didn’t you?” He sighs, his voice curling into Qrow’s ear like his lover’s former embrace. “You did it for me.”</p><p>Qrow nods, shuddering silently. He had. He had walked right into the body of the monster, right down its open, bleeding gullet. His feet had echoed through pools of dripping Tar.</p><p>And then, he had ripped the Grimm’s heart to <em>pieces.</em></p><p>There is no more proof of this assault upon the rooftop aside from the Tar, for the body of the wyvern has finally dissipated into nothing. Other than what stains his figure, the remains of this horrifying demon are all gone.</p><p>“Songbird,” Clover breathes, “sing for me, c’mon. I’ll clean you up, okay?”</p><p>Qrow nods, hiccupping without a sound, fighting to keep his voice and heart under control. He does not want to be weak- not <em>now, </em>when they’re so close to their goal-</p><p>But he is so, <em>so tired. </em>He just wants Clover here, more than anything. He had come to Remnant in the first place because he had never wanted to face monsters like that ever again, and the image of the gristly, Tar-covered heart of this demon will never leave the back of his mind as long as he lives.</p><p>He does not want to suffer this image alone. It has only been a few hours since the start of this horrible night, but he is <em>sick of being alone.</em></p><p>As he finally begins to hum once again, Clover whispers, “Thank you, Qrow. Thank you. I’m here.”</p><p>
  <em>But you’re not.</em>
</p><p>When he finally opens his eyes once again, the Tar staining his body is gone, as if it has simply been deleted. The entire rooftop is naught but shimmering, reflective obsidian, but he is clean and crisp as if he had just left his apartment. That, at least, is one reprieve.</p><p>The rest of their journey to Atlas Academy is performed in near silence, aside from growls of their enemies and the sound of bullets firing from the Harbinger. Occasionally, Clover speaks, but only when prompted by a tap from Qrow, the man needing validation to prove that Clover’s data truly does remain intact.</p><p>There is something so frustrating about fighting all of these tiny Grimm after destroying that behemoth. He snorts as he thinks of his nieces, of how they would describe this situation. If this had been a video game, perhaps he would have succeeded. Perhaps that dragon would’ve been the final boss. Perhaps the rest of this journey would be a clear shot.</p><p>There is no such luck to be had in his night, it seems. He cuts down yet another Sabyr as he walks to the front doors of Atlas Academy’s towering front doors at long last. Usually, this entire building is put under strictly restricted access, with the process of entering the facility requiring permit after permit after permit in order to actually get through to the inner chambers or upper floors. Now, however, there is no functioning security, which is unsurprising; whilst the rest of Atlas still seems relatively untouched aside from a few patches of obsidian here and there, the inner corridor of the front hall of the Academy has been ravaged by the Grimm. “Maybe he’s just… letting us in,” Clover murmurs. “Maybe that’s why no guards are around.”</p><p><em>…are any guards even left? </em>He blanches as he jogs down blackened floors. <em>Will James even be alive?</em></p><p>He cannot help but wonder what is awaiting him at the top of this building as his feet carry him into this grand hall, full of high, arched ceilings and breathtaking murals splattered with processed marks across the walls. There is not a soul in sight. He almost wishes there were guards around.</p><p>Around the corner, there is another terminal. It glows, already logged in, screen glowing a sinister, horrifying burgundy. On the holoscreen is a singular message:</p><p>
  <em>‘Private message for Q. Branwen.’</em>
</p><p>“…it’s for you, Songbird.”</p><p>Silently, he walks up to the terminal. The button to play an audio recording shimmers, waiting for his trembling finger to press it.</p><p>He does.</p><p>An audio file appears on screen, waveforms dancing across the screen as a familiar, deep voice begins to resonate in the empty hallway. Qrow’s lip immediately curls into a disdainful sneer as he imagines the man who speaks, the tone of his voice having always rubbed Qrow the wrong way. If it is not for Clover’s gentle, “Stay and listen, Qrow. We need to know where he is,” Qrow may have simply left the moment that James Ironwood begins to speak.</p><p>“<em>Greetings from the Circle,” </em>James Ironwood says lowly, wearily. The fatigue in his voice is evident; Qrow does not feel any pity for him, though. “<em>Really, you’ve come all this way. Thank you. I’m sorry for not being able to greet you, Qrow- but you understand,” </em>and he chuckles wryly, as if to build some camaraderie in this moment of pure hatred which overwhelms Qrow, <em>“things are… not ideal right now-“</em></p><p>Suddenly, another voice cuts into the recording, a splash of cold water onto his focused form. “<em>James Ironwood, don’t you </em>dare <em>after what has happened!” </em>There is the sound of a struggle, the sound of muttered, bitter arguments. Qrow frowns staring at the screen blankly. What in the world could be going on?</p><p>Finally, it is the second voice which takes control of the recording- decidedly feminine, stern, bitter. Defeat and anger is laced into every word, each breath sounding more and more resolute- more and more filled with shame. “<em>Hello, Qrow Branwen. My name is Glynda Goodwitch. You’re here in Atlas for James, I imagine- and I don’t blame you. We’ve done some… truly heinous things.”</em></p><p>“Glynda Goodwitch is the Vice-Chancellor of the Academy, isn’t she?” Clover whispers in awe. “The architect, right? What is she doing in this-“</p><p><em>She’s just- she’s just admitting it, </em>Qrow realizes as he begins to tune out Clover’s words in favour of focusing on the exasperated message playing for them, his body growing cold, numb. <em>They really are responsible for </em>everything, <em>aren’t they?</em></p><p>Glynda continues, “<em>We’ve walled ourselves in. We’re stuck. We wanted to fight originally, but there are some things in the Academy that need to be protected, and so… we stayed here.” </em>After a long silence with Qrow idly watching the recording continuing to play, she adds, “<em>At least, we </em>thought <em>there were.” </em>She sighs. <em>“I’d better go. I need to make sure he’s not doing anything drastic- that he’s not going to try and keep going with this idiotic scheme. I’ll try and clear your way. You deserve that much.”</em></p><p>With that bittersweet signature, the recording ends, and Qrow and Clover are left alone in the quiet hall once more.</p><p>“I- I hope you’re not buying this garbage, Qrow,” Clover says after a long, incredulous moment. “Just- what does she think, that we’re going to just accept an apology or something? Are we supposed to feel grateful that she’s going to not kill us with the automated security?”</p><p><em>She’s… she’s not doing that, </em>Qrow thinks, feeling faint and flushed and feverish.</p><p>“’We sincerely regret any grievance or inconvenience we’ve caused you’,” Clover adds mockingly in a tittering tone as Qrow slowly carries on down the corridor. “The only way to say any kind of apology would be ‘Oh, here’s your voice back, here’s your body, now have a nice day!’ although I doubt they’re going to be that compliant.”</p><p><em>She’s not angry at us. Maybe James is, but she isn’t. </em>Qrow is going to be sick.</p><p>Spitefully, Clover spits, “Nothing they say can change the fact that our world has been torn to pieces in one night because of whatever they were scheming. Everything is ruined now.”</p><p><em>This is… I always knew that the Circle was somehow guilty, but to think it was </em>James <em>who brought these monsters into Remnant</em>? <em>What the hell are the Grimm? What are they doing here- why are they attacking people?</em></p><p>His grip tightens around the corded grip of the Harbinger. <em>Why did they need my voice?</em></p><p>For a moment, he wonders whether it was something from a film- perhaps this entire attack upon the world as they know it began as the desire to take over the world, to instill a dictatorship of some kind. Perhaps it was a world-domination attempt gone wrong.</p><p>But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes with aching clarity that it cannot be the case. He hates James Ironwood, but the man has always been idealistic to a fault.</p><p>…the thought that perhaps the world has been destroyed out of the desire to do <em>good </em>and not out of maliciousness is more terrifying than even the memory of the dragon’s bleeding, pulsing heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One more chapter after this before it gets r e a l</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He remembers James Ironwood.</p><p>They had shared a mutual superior officer- a man whom they had both followed and respected, although they had shown that respect in different ways. Qrow had always followed orders absolutely, putting his feelings aside and doing what needed to be done for the sake of his mission, his superiors, and for the sake of the little nieces he longed to raise in a world without conflict.</p><p>He hadn’t been successful in that shimmering, innocent dream of his. The mere memory of it still brings bile into his mouth, stomach acid sour and stinging in his esophagus; the shame left behind from having to abandon an external world that was doomed from the start still haunts him, despite all of these years in Remnant- despite having found a modicum of peace onstage, with his girls, and within Clover.</p><p>James’ respect had always been different. He had wanted to prove himself from the get-go. He challenged orders, trying to climb his way up the ranks, trying to instill within others a sense that what James Ironwood could accomplish was limitless compared to the feeble growth destined for the rest of their legions. Even now, Qrow despises that cockiness, that sense of arrogance which he had always seen in James Ironwood; even now, he thinks back to that superior and cannot help but to label him a fool for not cutting off James’ desire for supremacy off from the start.</p><p><em>I should’ve killed him back then, </em>he thinks as he stalks his way down yet another Grimm-infested hallway within the Academy. <em>Then, he wouldn’t have followed me into Remnant- he wouldn’t have gained power as a councillor- he would’ve just stayed a soldier, like he belonged. </em></p><p>Or maybe he <em>has</em> stayed a soldier. If Glynda Goodwitch’s words are indeed correct, then James is one of the key players responsible for turning Qrow’s haven into naught but a warzone which can never be reclaimed. Perhaps this has been James’ goal after all.</p><p>It may as well be. Clover is right. Pretty words will never bring Remnant- or the people in the Harbinger, or the people he has been forced to leave behind, their bodies too processed to download- back.</p><p>There is another terminal here waiting to greet him, another private message dedicated to Qrow flashing onscreen. He approaches this ominous red CCTS holoscreen with trepidation, for he can see two Atlesian Knights, the automated security detail, parked inside docks lining the hallway just three feet away; should they activate whilst his back is turned, he could be riddled with holes before he has a chance to even press ‘play’. Still, he needs to see this message. All he can do is pray that Glynda had not been lying when she said that the automated security would not bring him harm as he makes his way up the Academy’s endless floors.</p><p>They do not react to his approach, allowing him to examine the screen uninterrupted. The message is another audio recording. “Let’s hear it, Qrow,” Clover growls bitterly. “Let’s see what stupid reasoning they can come up with now.”</p><p>He hums, nodding his head, then presses play, wincing as a brighter red light begins dancing across the screen in the shape of waveforms. Immediately, two voices assault his eardrums, a whispered argument that sounds painfully loud in the otherwise silent hall filling the recording despite the words clearly not being aimed at him.</p><p>He picks out Glynda’s voice first, her words muffled but her frustration evident. Finally, she speaks with a bit more clarity. <em>“James, please-“</em></p><p>“<em>No, Glynda,</em>” James says, clearing his throat. Qrow flares his nostrils and sighs, waiting for the man to begin to speak as heavy footsteps echo towards the recording device. Once they come to a halt, James begins, “<em>Qrow… you need to understand. We have our reasons for all of this.”</em></p><p>“They better be spectacular,” Clover seethes. “I want my body back.”</p><p>
  <em>“You see, Qrow, when everything changes… nothing changes.”</em>
</p><p><em>…I’m sorry, what? </em>Qrow wonders, blinking in baffled confusion at the screen. He had been expecting a war cry, a challenge, an apology- but what the hell is James going on about?</p><p><em>“That’s the Circle’s creed,</em>” James insists, his voice somber and resolute. “<em>Our mission, you could say. We love our city and the way it is- </em>was<em>, before tonight.”</em></p><p>
  <em>Then why?</em>
</p><p>It is as if James has heard him in the past, this pre-recorded message providing an answer so puerile he almost retches. <em>“We just didn’t want to see it fade because someone out there didn’t like the colour of the sky. Everything we did, everything we’re </em>doing, <em>is for Remnant, don’t you see?”</em></p><p>Clover spits venom in his words, the green glow clashing horribly with the red seared into Qrow’s eyes from the holoscreen. “He’s lying. Why wouldn’t he be?”</p><p><em>But… that’s the thing, </em>Qrow longs to reply, gently stroking the clock face, the metal warm under his freezing fingertips. <em>I know him. I don’t think he actually is lying.</em></p><p>And that fact is the most frightening part.</p><p>As he reaches an elevator at the end of the hall, his mind begins to race. <em>Everything in Remnant is decided by vote, yes. Yes, things haven’t really changed much since I’ve been here because of the voting system, but… how in the world does removed art pieces and changed- or unchanging- legislature warrant any of </em>this<em>?! </em>He cannot come up with an answer, irritation only rising to the forefront of his mind as the lift refuses to arrive upon the floor. Groaning silently, he turns on his heel and makes a break for the nearby staircase, only running faster when he hears the telltale clicking of claws upon the tiled floor coming from around the last corner.</p><p>Upon the next floor, there is another terminal. It does not carry a private message, however; instead, there is a new alert waiting for him. His Scroll is tapping the screen before he is even conscious of it, his body moving so automatically in desperation to shed some kind of light upon the conflicting messages he has received this night.</p><p>It is a simple message, the voice-to-text lines appearing on-screen in time with Glynda’s harrowing, matter-of-fact words. Glynda Goodwitch’s profile image appears on screen, labelling her as the speaker in this public announcement. Her face is familiar, for she has been in the news and on CCTS interviews more times than anyone can count, having been one of the most influential architects responsible for Remnant as it is today; her blonde curls are pristine in their simple, swept-back bun, her glasses portraying no hint of humour in her beautiful, but stern no-nonsense expression.</p><p>He could never have imagined that <em>she, </em>of all people, would be associated to this nightmare. <em>The public has been rejecting a lot of her new installations, </em>he thinks distantly. <em>But- that can’t be enough of a reason to cause all of this… can it?</em></p><p>Qrow’s heart races in his chest as he sees a small icon flickering in the corner of the screen, proving that this message is being broadcast outside of Remnant as well- outside of this world. He glances at the login count. Then, he looks away.</p><p>He has never felt more alone.</p><p>“<em>To the people of Remnant: We did this,” </em>the title reads. He reaches out with a trembling finger. He presses <em>play</em>.</p><p>“By the gods,” Clover whispers. “This- they’re not actually <em>saying it-</em>“</p><p>In response to Qrow’s touch, Glynda begins to speak. “<em>This is an emergency broadcast. I repeat: this is an emergency broadcast to the people of Remnant,” </em>she begins. She sounds absolutely exhausted, defeated- broken. “<em>We, the Circle, are responsible for the inexcusable crimes committed against this city and her citizens. This is a formal admission of guilt. I solemnly swear everything written here is true. Know that I am responsible for these heinous acts perpetrated against this oasis of Remnant.”</em></p><p>“Is she taking all the blame?!” Clover cries in shock.</p><p>She continues, “<em>My accomplices are Winter Schnee, Oscar Pine, and James Ironwood. We alone are to blame.”</em></p><p>“Why would she take the blame when this kind of thing is <em>clearly </em>James’ fault?” Clover breathes, but Qrow is not listening, too focused on Glynda’s words- on the truth unveiling before his very eyes, a car accident which shall be engrained into his memory forever.</p><p>“<em>Perhaps our worst sin is you will get no justice. For now, we all share the same sentence.”</em></p><p>And that’s that. Qrow shivers, his blood freezing in his veins without his Aura to protect him. It is not the cold which causes him to tremble, however; it is the fact that not all of these names are <em>not </em>familiar, and yet, he cannot deny the fact that the second name upon Glynda’s list fills him with such foreboding that he wants to weep.</p><p>Clover does not understand. Qrow has never told him, after all. “What have they done?” the other man whispers, absolutely shocked by the way that the screen fades to black, the CCTS terminal going offline the moment this message has ceased its airtime. Qrow taps his Scroll back onto the scanner. It does not respond.</p><p>He can hear the Grimm’s growls before he even turns around. There is no time to waste waxing philosophical about James and Glynda’s mistakes. As he extends the Harbinger once again, he swallows down his fears and concerns, his questions for which he will likely receive no answers. He just needs to survive a little longer.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He is getting <em>sick </em>of these messages. He is not a child playing a scavenger hunt- this is <em>real. I don’t know if they think they’re being fucking funny, </em>he fumes silently as he cuts through another roaring Sabyr before it can even fully materialize out of the rift from which it appears, <em>but they can take their goddamned clues and shove them-</em></p><p>“Keep going, Songbird,” Clover says softly, cutting through Qrow’s murderous thoughts. “We’re almost there. You’re doing great. We’ve just gotta keep going.” Clover sounds absolutely exhausted, having run out of fuel to complain and gripe a while earlier.</p><p><em>…I know. </em>Qrow sighs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and picking up speed down the hallway once again. Unfortunately, it is almost entirely black, giving him nothing to focus on but his darkening thoughts. <em>I just- if they’re responsible for everything, that means that they’re responsible for the </em>Grimm. His mind flashes back to that putrid, wretched dragon, the statue brought to life to haunt their journey to Atlas. <em>They wanted to use literal demons to do…</em></p><p>What, exactly?</p><p>He cannot comprehend that final piece, and it is driving him <em>mad.</em></p><p>He has not been able to feel settled ever since the most recent message. At the heart of the library archives through which he had been cutting, Qrow had found another terminal, the private message for him waiting within the cause of his bitterness now. James’ voice had sounded oddly saccharine, oddly friendly- the voice of a politician, someone trying to get their way. “<em>You have every right to be angry, Qrow. I can see it on your face from the cameras, but I can’t do much about it.” </em></p><p>Qrow’s response had been to shoot the nearest security cameras in the room. It wasn’t productive, but it had felt good, at least.</p><p>“<em>The Grimm- those monsters, you know- they don’t answer to us anymore. They don’t really answer to anyone. We thought that maybe, just maybe, we could stop them without the Harbinger, but…</em>” and James had chuckled, as if any of this is something to laugh at, “<em>you can see how well that’s gone. I suppose you’re not about to hand it over, are you?”</em></p><p>Qrow’s response had been simple and sweet, left in the comments section of that message.</p><p>
  <em>‘You’d still have it if you hadn’t attacked me. Why’d you do it, Jimmy? –Q.’</em>
</p><p>“Good question,” Clover had murmured. “C’mon, Qrow. Let’s go.”</p><p>Firing off one more shot for good measure hadn’t been enough to distract Qrow from the chaos around them, however, leaving him fuming until now- until he arrives halfway through the archives, leaping into a small office at the end of that dark corridor, desperate for a reprieve from the horror surrounding his every step.</p><p>The window showcasing the hallway paints a grim image of what the archives had likely once been- beautiful, wall-to-wall screens providing those with access every piece of information their hearts could have ever desired. This is the knowledge center of Remnant, after all. Everyone’s data is likely stored on these servers. Every string of code which defines this place which he has grown to love and cherish is in these few floors.</p><p>And every single piece of that is now in the process of being processed completely, and he <em>doesn’t know how to save it.</em></p><p>Qrow does not want to say goodbye to this world. He doesn’t think he’ll have a choice, though.</p><p>He is tired of not having a choice. <em>My vote… used to mean something.</em></p><p>Then, his brain seems to fog, exhausted causing him to stray. <em>…did it ever mean anything?</em></p><p>In this small office, a small door catches his eye. It is a washroom- unisex, accessible, likely put there for any researchers who needed a break. It is in that moment that he realizes just how parched he is, just how much his body would enjoy a pause. So, he leans the Harbinger against the table just outside the door and opens it, tapping the clock face before he leaves to get Clover’s attention.</p><p>“Goddammit, Qrow,” he hears Clover groan as he steps into the small washroom on his own, “c’mon, just take me with you.” Qrow snorts as he takes a drink of water from cupped hands, proceeding to wash his face, the sound clearly loud enough to pass through the door- it only spurs Clover on further, the younger crying out, “What, I don’t even get to embarrass you like this now? It’s not like there’s anything I haven’t seen before. Qrow, take me with you-“</p><p>And the comments continue, silly and completely out of touch with the tone of what Qrow is currently wrestling with. Yet, Qrow does not mind in the slightest- Clover’s voice sounds truly lighter than it has all night, as he takes a few minutes to breathe and wash his face and drink some more water, having Clover’s teasing voice echo through the door is finally enough to quell some of the fear and rage that has been haunting him since first hearing James’ voice. For this brief moment, this idiocy almost makes him feel like everything is going to be okay- almost.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry in advance for this chapter. Did I cry writing it? Maybe.</p><p>Let me know what you think in the comments! After this chapter, only 10 more left. Final stretch, y'all.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The top floor of the archives is just a little bit below James’ office at the top of the Academy. With this in mind, Qrow double-checks the floor plan projected on the wall of the fire escape, studying his next route in detail before pushing open those doors, bracing himself for what lies within. Just a few more floors, and they shall have reached James.</p><p>He is ready, he thinks. He is going to end this, once and for all.</p><p>…he was naïve to think it would be that easy. He is not ready for what he finds.</p><p>It is as if the river of Grimm he had seen outside of Mantle has been multiplied, amplified and extending over this entire wide room; the catwalk above it all barely hangs above the level of Tar which floods the lower levels, the network of raised walkways looking like a spider’s web hung over a black, gaping, roiling void. The sea ebbs and flows around the tall pillars of data littered throughout the room, all within arm’s reach of the catwalks, providing the scholars who had undoubtedly used this room only a little while before the ability to properly look through specific files in the myriads of data stored within this facility.</p><p>Faintly, his brain supplies, <em>This is more Grimm that I’ve seen all day… how long has it been here? How long have they been infesting this place?</em></p><p>The smell burns his nose, but the feeling of cold, yet oddly gentle hands is what truly alerts him of danger. He looks down at his ankles, a silent scream tearing from his throat as a white bone skull that looks <em>far too human </em>looks back up at him, a humanoid claw wrapped around his ankle.</p><p>Clover’s clock face lights up after a moment of silence. “Qrow, you need to <em>go,</em>” Clover roars as Qrow slices the monster’s hand clean off, freeing his leg. He shakes hooked, long fingers from his ankle as Clover continues, “They’re called the Apathy- they <em>don’t need physical contact to process you.</em>”</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to die here.</em>
</p><p>More and more white humanoid masks lift out of the roiling sea, their glowing red eyes shining sickly lights from within deep black sockets, that glow reflecting off their Tar-stained, boney teeth. They are too human, too recognizable- almost to the point where Qrow misses the dragon. At least that monster had been identifiable as a <em>monster. </em>These harrowing creatures and their knowing, haunting smiles just look <em>wrong.</em></p><p>His feet remain true, however, picking up from a jog into a dead sprint. He thunders down the path, ignoring a terminal to his right- if Clover is correct, then he needs to get away from these spindly, skeletal creatures as soon as possible. Whatever message James or Glynda wanted to leave him shall have to wait in his inbox until the next terminal. If these Grimm trap him, after all, they might get into his head. They might devour him from the inside out. Those cold, soothing hands might drag him off the catwalk, and Qrow does <em>not </em>want to know what the bottom of the sea of Tar below him looks like.</p><p>He races across web-like pathways, interlocking corridors slowly growing covered with more and more Apathy Grimm as the creatures realize that their prey has fallen into their lap. The room itself is like a maze; even with the look at the map outside the door, Qrow struggles to maintain his bearings, his sense of direction completely thrown to the wind as he attempts to figure out where to go.</p><p>After what feels like hours (but is likely only a few minutes) of slicing through grabbing hands and sickly grins and emaciated, Tar-covered masks of bone, Qrow finally spots the exit, a glowing sign hanging above the door in the distance shining with such incredible light that he would have sung in exaltation if he could have. However, something else catches his eye halfway down this straight-shot to the exit; leaning against one of the data pillars, he spots a slumped-over figure processed from the waist down.</p><p><em>Fuck, </em>he thinks, breaking into a jog towards the person, <em>someone must’ve gotten trapped here-</em></p><p>And then, he sees it. The outline is faint in the dim lights hanging from the ceiling above. It takes him a moment for him to make it out, and even longer for the symbol to register its shape, its curves and angles and edges, in his mind. Then, it takes him a moment for the shock to rise up into his throat, ripping through him with enough force to shake the entire world around him- at least, that’s how it appears in his suddenly blurry vision.</p><p>He sprints forward, no longer paying attention to the numerous Grimm slowly clambering onto the catwalk from the sea of Tar behind him. His eyes are focused on one thing and one thing alone- the shining, crimson rose brooch upon the shoulder of the slumped-over figure.</p><p>Qrow slides onto his knees once he is close enough to reach her, all but tossing the Harbinger down in favour of grabbing her shoulders, lifting up her face frantically. The site which greets him is absolutely horrifying: hollowed out, emaciated cheeks; collarbones so sharp he wonders if they would have cut through her skin itself had they been in the real world; lips which are cracked and all but shrunken in; hair limp and stained with black obsidian and dripping Tar and grease.</p><p>Ruby Rose, his little niece, used to have silver eyes. The way that those eyes had always creased into tiny, shining crescent moons with every single sweet smile had been one of his favourite things in the world. Now the only thing staring back at him are glossy black pools of Tar dripping down her cheeks.</p><p>…her brow isn’t even furrowed. She looks like she is <em>smiling, </em>just like the Apathy<em>.</em></p><p>His shoulders shake with the effort to keep down the water which he had consumed earlier, every fiber of his being rejecting this reality. This cannot be his niece. How could she have even gotten here? What would she have been doing here? He has not seen her in so long- how in the world did she end up in these archives to be turned into <em>this-</em></p><p><em>Has Ruby been here this whole time? </em>It has been five months since he has last seen this little girl- this young woman- <em>his little kiddo-</em></p><p>The Grimm infestation within this level of the archives is not one which could have simply appeared in one day, he realizes slowly. Guilt matches the horror washing over him beat by beat. If this is where they have been cultivating these monsters of shadow, then has she been trapped here this entire time, praying for her uncle, for <em>anyone, </em>to come save her?</p><p>He clutches the emaciated figure in his arms, the fat, thick droplets rolling down his cheek settling into the hollows of her own. <em>Kiddo, I’m so, so sorry, </em>he sobs silently.</p><p>He can hear the Grimm creeping closer, and yet, he does not move.</p><p>
  <em>I deserve to die. </em>
</p><p>“Qrow, we’ve got to go,” Clover whispers urgently.</p><p>
  <em>I just left her here all this time. I can’t leave her here again.</em>
</p><p>“Qrow, c’mon.”</p><p>
  <em>I’ve left her alone for long enough. </em>
</p><p>“Qrow,” Clover suddenly snaps with more force than ever before, “let’s take her data and <em>run!</em>” After a moment, Qrow can hear Clover’s voice crack into a sob as well. “Please. She’s our little girl- we can’t leave her here. <em>Please, </em>Qrow.”</p><p>
  <em>Clover loved her, too.</em>
</p><p>That was what had attracted him to Clover first, after all. Clover has always loved his nieces just as Qrow did. Now, he can hear Clover trying not to scream, every note of his normally melodic voice stained with pure rage and grief.</p><p>Qrow vomits although nothing spills from his lips, dry heaves naught but misfiring neurons and data which has never been programmed in. Then, he stands up, retrieving the Harbinger with fingers trembling so fiercely he almost drops it in its entirety. He can hear the creeping, low groans of the Apathy behind him, moving closer and closer down this hallway, their very voices sending a wave of nauseating fear crashing into him once again.</p><p>There is no time to hesitate. <em>I love you, Ruby. I’m so sorry. </em>And with that, he stabs his broken little girl in the chest, closing his eyes, blocking out the sight of the Harbinger glowing, the world lighting up, and Ruby Rose’s scant, processed data filtering into the Harbinger’s databanks at last.</p><p>He does not remove the blade, nor does he open his eyes, until he hears Clover murmur, “Hey, sweetheart. It’s me. Baby girl, you’re home. Come here. We’ve got you.” A sigh of relief, a glow of green lighting the way forward from the clock face. “It’s me. That’s it. I’ve got you, and your Uncle Qrow’s protecting both of us. Let’s protect him, okay?” A pause, a shuddering sob. “I know. I’m so, so sorry, Ruby. We’re never letting you go again. I swear to you.”</p><p>The amount of love and heartbreak and longing in Clover’s voice tears the sobs out of Qrow’s throat, the man lifting up the elegant blade, clutching it to his chest. His younger niece is there now- at least he has a part of her, even though the form which he had held in his arms is on the floor, unrecognizable with its chest cut open and body shrunken thanks to the Grimm’s processing. And as he runs forward, this blade held tightly in his arms, Clover continues to whisper words of love and comfort to his niece in Qrow’s place. <em>You’re alright. We’ve got you. We don’t know where Yang is, but we’ll find her. Welcome back, Ruby. We love you. We missed you, too. We won’t let you go.</em></p><p>Qrow stumbles multiple times as he runs, shoulders wracking with sobs too grief-filled to focus upon his path. The first time he falls, however, he retches again, for as he picks himself up off the floor, he casts a glance behind him. There is a trail of rose petals shimmering brightly as they fall upon the floor left behind in his wake. When one Apathy Grimm touches a petal, it recoils, screaming in pain as the petal seems to explode lightly, burning off the creature’s pitchfork-like hand.</p><p>His younger niece has been reduced to some kind of power-up in the Harbinger. She has become another tool in his belt, another weapon. She is <em>just-</em></p><p>After that, each time he stumbles, he does not look back. He does not need to- not when the only thing he needs to look for is James Ironwood, so he can spear this blade through that man’s body once and for all for doing this to the people he loves.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Update 4 of this fic today. Only 9 more chapters left!!! The countdown begins.</p><p>Let me know what you think in the comments before the confrontation next chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Qrow runs, leaving rose petals behind in his wake. He runs, cutting down more and more Grimm as the halls become more black than anything else. He runs, ignoring the fact that the corridors are teeming with shadowy beasts, all laying in anticipation for one of the few people left logged into this world.</p><p>To think so egocentrically, that they lie in wait for <em>him, </em>is not a narcissistic exaggeration. Qrow looks at the login count projected upon one of the remaining holoscreens at the end of one corridor. There are less than ten people left. <em>Me, James, Glynda and Oscar, at least, </em>Qrow thinks bitterly. <em>Perfect. We’ll have a little intimate party, the four of us.</em></p><p>He can only hope that that number means that Yang made it out okay. The thought of finding her-</p><p>He refuses to even acknowledge it. He can’t- not with Ruby’s death literally haunting every footstep.</p><p>His feet carry him through various academic settings; training halls and classrooms, science laboratories and small, manicured quads. Each area is infected by the Grimm, the terminals residing in each corner no longer working at all. Qrow does not mind, nor does he bother checking each terminal for more than just a breath, for the mere thought that the Apathy might still be on his trail is enough to send him running for the next staircase, the next door. He cannot see them again. He just <em>can’t.</em></p><p>After mercilessly cutting through wave after wave of Grimm, the man finally chances upon a lone terminal still functioning. It is not connected to the greater CCTS- of that, he bears no hope. However, there is another private message awaiting him, and the mere sight of it causes him to raise the Harbinger high above his head, the man nearly striking down at the outlet until Clover cries, “Qrow, wait! We need to listen!”</p><p><em>This bastard just left Ruby to</em> rot! Qrow wants to scream. He lowers the sword, however; the screen is already logged into his account, his inbox flickering with another message. There is no point ignoring it when it might be able to give him some indication of where to go, of what to do, to maybe- just maybe- begin fixing all of this.</p><p>Unfortunately, from the moment James begins to speak, Qrow understands that this message will do nothing but increase his anger, his bitterness. “<em>You’ve been through a lot tonight, Qrow. For that, I’m genuinely sorry- it was nothing personal, after all.</em>”</p><p>“That bastard went after you in the middle of your show, and it ‘wasn’t personal’?” Clover nearly screeches.</p><p>“<em>You </em>were <em>handpicked, yes,” </em>James continues, his tone lighter, airier- almost as if he is delirious, in all honesty- than before, “<em>but you were merely one of many. All we needed was your point of view. Your voice moves people, Qrow; if they heard you speak, then you can give them the truths that they didn’t know they wanted.”</em></p><p>Qrow splutters silently at the nonchalance of these words. How can he speak as if attacking Qrow, as if using his <em>voice as a tool, </em>was all just part of some harmless plan?!</p><p>He does not get to share his outrage with Clover, for Glynda Goodwitch’s voice filters through the rest of the message after the sounds of a brief scuffle. “<em>Qrow,</em>” she breathes, voice thick as if she is near to tears, “<em>all James has ever wanted to achieve was change. The rest was incidental. After all, what good can four people hope to accomplish? With only four voices, plus or minus a few thanks to our council seats or elected positions?” </em>Glynda sighs, clearly frazzled beyond compare. If there had been video to go along with this audio recording, Qrow can imagine her neat bun falling apart, her expression fatigued beyond measure. “<em>James… wanted to make a change. This ‘perfect utopia’ of a democracy can crush any motion we try to put out there in a moment. So, when we found the Harbinger, we wanted to try to force that change. I let James talk me into it.</em>” Another sigh, another heartbreak. “<em>And look where it’s brought us.”</em></p><p>The message ends on that empty, quiet resignation. <em>They wanted to use my voice to convince the masses to accept whatever they wanted in this society, </em>he thinks bleakly as he steps away from the terminal. He does not bother logging out. There is no one around to steal his information, anyways. <em>They wanted to use me as a tool. Is that why the Grimm target some people more than others? To weaponize them, to use them-</em></p><p>He shudders. What has he been doing if not benefitting from that ability of the Harbinger since the start? Coco’s bullets, Blake’s speed- Ruby’s steps in his shadow, glowing brilliantly wherever he goes, protecting him from the demons on his trail-</p><p><em>I’m no better than them. </em>Logically, he understands this is not true, for he is a victim in all this- perhaps even more so than most. Emotionally, however, even the mere thought of that idea, that he is just like the Circle, causes him to turn tail and run.</p><p>Finally, they arrive at the main upper hallway. After clearing out the Grimm which appear without delay, Qrow catches sight of another figure curled up in a nook in the wall; with horror in his heart, he sees that her fingers are still curled around her Scroll, an ID badge upon her chest proclaiming her identity clear as day where her obsidian face cannot. Weiss Schnee’s body looks strangely serene, although Qrow can say with absolute certainty that black hair will never suit her when compared to her formerly white locks.</p><p>Even in this processed state, he can still see the grace which fills her figure, just as it had Winter’s. He sighs as he sees that almost her entire body has been processed. There is no way to save her.</p><p>“Winter and Ruby are crying out for her,” Clover murmurs. “Let’s take her and go.”</p><p><em>I don’t think there’s much of her even left- and I don’t want to carry any more children with me, </em>Qrow thinks bitterly in response. <em>I feel like- like a reaper.</em></p><p>“We’re her only chance to get out of here,” the younger reminds him gently.</p><p><em>I know. That doesn’t mean I like it. </em>He downloads her data anyways- at least Ruby may have some companionship, some solace, in whatever world exists within the Harbinger.</p><p>Two doors later, and Qrow is able to find what he has been looking for all this time: a singular functioning elevator leading up to James Ironwood’s office. The light flickers on, and the lift’s doors open without delay, allowing Qrow to enter it and press the topmost floor’s button easily. The doors close, the carriage beginning to rise, leaving Qrow to deal with the chest pains which mount in anticipation for seeing the man he has wanted to hunt down since the truth of his involvement was revealed.</p><p>“Qrow,” Clover says suddenly, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”</p><p>Qrow hums in response, gently stroking the clock face as he fights to calm his breath. <em>And what’s that?</em></p><p>“Once this- whatever it’ll be, I guess- is over… maybe there’s still time to skip town.”</p><p>Qrow’s heart leaps into his throat. He longs to speak the truth, to confess to what he has planned since his fight with Winter. He knows that saying it would break Clover, though. For the first time, he is thankful that he cannot speak; Clover would be able to handle the truth. Qrow had been the soldier between them. Clover is too gentle to do what Qrow has done- to do what Qrow is <em>about </em>to do.</p><p>Clover sighs, sensing at the very least Qrow’s hesitation, although the depth of his heartache is lost on the younger. “I don’t know, Songbird. Just think about it, okay? Standing offer.” Before he can say anything else, however, the elevator dings and the doors begin to open. “Okay. We’re here.”</p><p>And as light spills into the elevator, illuminating Qrow’s path forward at last, Qrow steels himself, ready to face the man he had thought he had left behind all those years ago.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is only one living life form in James Ironwood’s office when Qrow walks in; that much is made abundantly clear in seconds. He takes in a shuddering breath as he looks past strange containers, the bureau-turned-science lab covered in equipment, the rounded room lined with shelves and whiteboards and equations all hell-bent on comprehending one thing, and one thing alone:</p><p>The Grimm.</p><p>He almost gags when he sees the bone-white mask of a Grimm- a Creep, he thinks faintly- suspended in a large container filled with thick, viscous liquid in the right corner of the room. He shivers; the back wall of the office is naught but glass, the domed room with the red tint of smoke and fire coming in through the glass panels resembling a cage which has been shattered by hellfire, the scent of rank Grimm ash and the burning city below wafting through that breakage little by little.</p><p>And leaning against the large, authoritative office desk at the back of the room are two slumped-over bodies, a blonde head of rumpled curls leaning against a dark, short cut streaked with grey.</p><p>“They’re dead,” Clover breathes as Qrow carefully steps his way through shattered debris, head slowly fogging over as he attempts to comprehend what in the world he sees before him. “They… they’re not processed at all, though. They must’ve-“</p><p>
  <em>They did it to themselves.</em>
</p><p>“Cowards,” Clover mutters. “I… this isn’t…”</p><p>He has nothing left in his tank. Qrow wishes he did- he wants to cry, but there’s nothing left in his heart anymore, a wave of fatigue so thick that it is dizzying, cloying, filling his lungs with bitterness as he stands on his feet, washing over him without his consent. He wants to weep. He wants closure.</p><p>After all, these two figures are <em>far too small </em>to be part of what has turned the world inside out this night. James has always been a large man, and Glynda has always appeared imposing in her press releases, but to see them huddled together on the floor like this makes them far too human compared to the mangled, processed body which had been Winter after her involvement in all of this. To make matters worse, James looks at peace. His lips bear a small smile, so painfully, eerily similar to that which Ruby’s corpse had worn; however, his body has not been desecrated by the creatures he has unleashed upon this city. <em>This isn’t fair, </em>Qrow longs to cry out<em>. </em>Why is he the one left to suffer- to bear the brunt of this burden, when he has never been responsible for any of this?</p><p><em>I didn’t choose the Harbinger, </em>he wants to scream, sinking to a crouch. It takes all he has not to fall over; he props himself up using the folded-up blade, leaning his forehead against it as he struggles to regulate his breathing. <em>I didn’t choose this. </em></p><p>“I guess… they’re in Patch.”</p><p>Clover’s words are innocent. He does not understand why Qrow hates that euphemism, that idea that the media on the CCTS has been propagating since the start of this entire mess, and so, Qrow does not blame him. It doesn’t make the fact that Qrow wants to scream any easier, for he is one of the few who remembers. He knows the truth.</p><p>Patch is <em>not </em>idyllic. Patch is <em>not </em>the place where one can find peace within the real world, far away from the safe, closed channels of Remnant. The pictures and archives of that location have been almost turned into myth over time, but he doubts most people understand just <em>why </em>no one ever returns.</p><p>He snorts despite himself. Maybe it has become a utopia like everyone says. It has been years since he has been there, after all- since he has buried his best friends, his sister- Ruby and Yang’s parents- in Patch. No one had received a ceremony, a memorial; there had been no time nor safety to perform such measures, for when he had been deployed, that little island had turned into a scorched battlefield just like the rest of the world affected by that war. There is a reason he left that life. There is a reason he never wanted to pick up a weapon again. There is a <em>fucking reason </em>that he grabbed his little nieces and signed up when his superior gave him an out, an option to flee, an entry into the utopia which was supposed to be this new, breathtaking world called Remnant-</p><p>He is sick and tired of hearing how Patch is an isle of safety and green. Perhaps it is now- all he knows is that he had dug three graves upon a cliff side overlooking the ocean years ago, and he has never wanted to go back. <em>If it really is idyllic, </em>he thinks, absolutely exhausted, <em>then James has no fucking right to go there. No one responsible for this mess has the right to be at peace.</em></p><p>It just isn’t fair.</p><p>Clover clears his throat. “It looks like… James went first. Glynda followed,” he says softly. “I think they left you a note.”</p><p>Qrow searches the area for a terminal, but the projector built into the work desk appears to be cracked; however, clutched within Glynda’s left hand is a Scroll which is still logged in. With a sigh, he picks it up and opens up the last saved note. It is yet another recording. <em>I guess they broke the terminal before they could send this to me. Not like it matters.</em></p><p>“<em>I couldn’t stay to meet with you in person, Qrow. I’m… I’m really sorry,</em>” Glynda’s weak, tear-filled voice quavers out of the tinny speakers of this work Scroll. “<em>James couldn’t wait any longer, apparently. Why he would leave so quick- he didn’t even want to </em>try <em>and make it out with me, I…” </em>She lets out a shuddering sigh, the sound so pathetic compared to the strong, vibrant figure he faintly remembers in news bulletins and interviews of the past. “<em>I’d… sooner take an eternity in the Harbinger, but he was no longer seeing straight. Or… perhaps he’d decided he’d seen enough.” </em>She laughs, empty, broken. “<em>We knew the stakes of what we’d accomplish, and we knew that if we failed, we’d- we’d fail together. I just wish I had stopped him earlier. I wish I had stopped everyone. I guess I… I gave a lot of people more credit than they deserved. Focusing on potential, rather than the actual product, I suppose.</em>”</p><p>
  <em>That mistake has cost us our world, Glynda Goodwitch. </em>
</p><p>“<em>Well. We have failed as one.”</em></p><p>He grits his teeth, fingers trembling around the Scroll.</p><p>“<em>I… always liked your music, you know. James pretended he didn’t- I know you had some history, but he still listened. I don’t think we’ll get to listen anymore, though.”</em></p><p>
  <em>No, you won’t.</em>
</p><p>“<em>See you in Patch, Qrow Branwen.”</em></p><p>And that is the end of the message.</p><p>It is Clover who responds first. “Bullshit. They don’t get to leave before we let them.” Qrow yelps as the blade extends on its own, but he obliges anyways; after all, with no processing, their data must still be entirely intact. So, he stabs the Harbinger into James’ chest.</p><p>It is nowhere near as cathartic as he would’ve thought. Now, it just feels… sad.</p><p>“Wake up, buddy,” Clover mutters. “Some goddamn councilman you are. We’ve got some questions for you.” Qrow closes his eyes, allowing the interrogation to happen within the Harbinger as the world lights up, James Ironwood’s data flowing into the blade. Clover continues, “Wait- the Emerald City? On the other side of Beacon and Vale, with the Emerald Forest, right? How the hell are we supposed to get to the other side of Vale?!” He hums, then sighs as he listens to the answer which remains silent in Qrow’s ears. “Okay. There’s one left in the circle- that Oscar guy?” He pauses again, then murmurs slowly, carefully, <em>doubtfully, </em>“This… this asshole’s saying you know him, Songbird. That true?”</p><p>Qrow shudders. <em>…I was afraid of that.</em></p><p>James Ironwood was always capable, but only in developing plans, in implementing them. Ideating a scheme this convoluted, this elaborate- it is not the work of the soldier with whom Qrow had fought alongside all those years ago. There is only one man who could have convinced James that this is all a good idea, that it is for the greater good. There has only ever been one man.</p><p>…he is so, <em>so </em>tired.</p><p>Clover sighs. “No, we’re not taking you with us. You can rot here. You made your choice.” To Qrow, he says, “Let’s move onto her?”</p><p>Silently, Qrow obeys, but it takes only a few moments to download her data. “She doesn’t want to talk,” Clover mutters at last. “Fine.” He sighs again heavily. “…I know. You didn’t know.”</p><p>Qrow removes the Harbinger from Glynda’s chest, then perches atop the edge of the bureau desk. <em>What do we do now? You mentioned the Emerald City? </em>he wonders, tapping the clock face gently and pointing to the door.</p><p>To his surprise, Clover hums a no. “Apparently there’s a faster way. Head to the window.”</p><p>He follows those commands, although each step is tentative, picking through shattered glass with growing fear and confusion in his heart. There is no other exit aside from the one leading to the elevator which they had used to arrive here. What in the world could-</p><p>“Glynda told me before we disconnected. Originally, the Harbinger could control these things,” Clover says quietly. “The more evolved forms of the Grimm won’t listen, but… we might be able to hitch a ride.”</p><p>
  <em>…I hope you’re right.</em>
</p><p>Clover would not lie to him, though. So, Qrow listens to Clover’s next instructions without complaint, too emotionally exhausted to disobey, anyways; he shoots a larger opening into the window, steps to the edge, closes his eyes… and jumps.</p><p>The fall does not last long. His brain struggles to catch up, vertigo knocking him off-balance, forcing him to take solace in clutching onto giant, thick feathers coating the broad back upon which he has landed. The scent is nauseating; it takes everything he has not to vomit right then and there, the feeling of some of the creature’s flesh shifting between solid matter and liquid, oozing Tar enough to make him retch.</p><p>It is alright, though. Clover is able to speak where he cannot. “That’s a good Nevermore,” he says quietly. “Take us back as far as you can. We have a score to settle in the Forest.”</p><p>And so, this giant, raven-like Grimm spreads its wings and begins its surging flight forward. Qrow does not open his eyes once the entire way. He does not need to witness the proof of the end of his world laid bare for him to see. He already knows it is all over.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clover’s voice is the only thing which keeps him grounded as each powerful thrust of the Nevermore Grimm’s wings threaten to knock him off its back, into the fires below. “The Circle wanted things to change for good,” he reasons aloud, clearly attempting to sort out the truth for himself, “but not like this. I guess they got too greedy, and allowed too many Grimm free- or maybe it began when they made too many to begin with. It’s…”</p><p>
  <em>They took away Ruby. They deserve no sympathy.</em>
</p><p>Sighing heavily, the clock face’s green glow shines, casting its light over Qrow’s closed eyelids, tinting his world a pastel green for just a few breaths. “There’s only one left. Oscar Pine, was it? He’s gotta know something out there.” Snorting bitterly, Clover adds, “Not like it matters. Look at this world; its time is up.”</p><p>Qrow does not respond.</p><p>Finally, the Nevermore’s wings buffet once, twice, and then, the two-storey-tall Grimm alights back to the earth, a piercing shriek ripping through its giant body and tearing into the smoke-filled sky above. Qrow slides off the creature’s back as if avoiding hot coals, wiping Tar-covered- yet strangely unprocessed- hands on his slacks before stepping away, opening his eyes at last.</p><p>He does not bother paying attention to the Nevermore as it flies off, the avian mask of bone a mere blur of white and red as it takes off into the night. His eyes are too focused on where the bird has brought them, unease and uncertainty rising up into his throat like bile instantly.</p><p>Although the stage is completely black now, the obsidian reflects familiar stage spotlights hanging from above. Clover lets out a long, trembling breath as he takes in the sight of Amity’s stage- the place where it all began that night. “I- I don’t think you’ll be singing here ever again, Songbird,” he murmurs mournfully.</p><p>Qrow shrugs, tucking the Harbinger onto his belt. There is no point grieving. He is too numb to do so, anyways- and, based on the glowing eyes watching him from the audience, he would have no time to, anyways.</p><p>Strangely enough, however, those eyes do not move. They are familiar, their feline glow strangely reminiscent of something else he has seen that night.</p><p>“Manticores,” Clover breathes. Qrow nods, taking a step forward to reach center stage.</p><p>He does not get a chance to move away when the house lights suddenly flicker on, illuminating the entire room. Filling up nearly every single seat of the floor and lower wings of the stands are Manticore Grimm, their feline bodies sitting primly, wings tucked in by their sides. They seem almost patient- almost as if they are waiting. They watch him with an intensity that he cannot place, and yet, which he knows from years and years of performances.</p><p>They are waiting for the show to start, he realizes faintly.</p><p>Tentatively, Qrow approaches the microphone he had abandoned all those hours earlier, the object still strewn upon the ground. It feels far heavier than he remembers. Perhaps the fatigue is merely playing tricks on him, but it takes far more effort than before to lift it up to his lips. Still, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and hums.</p><p>His voice reverberates through the stadium’s speakers, and just as fast, there is a resounding growl which echoes through the entire room, nearly knocking him off his feet with its intensity. “Are they… purring?” Clover whispers, horrified.</p><p>Qrow does not know. Shaking, he straightens the microphone once again, finishes that musical phrase, set the microphone down, and <em>runs. </em>He holds his breath, awaiting the ambush.</p><p>The only thing that follows them out into the outer halls of the stadium are the sounds of their contented purrs, far too gentle and pleased for his liking.</p><p>To his surprise, by the backstage exit there is a functioning CCTS terminal. He is taken aback by the glow of a working holoscreen, his fingers scrabbling to open up the awaiting news story within. After all, who in the world is still left in Remnant to share these stories with?!</p><p>‘<em>Qrow, 43, mourned as ‘Grimm’ toll climbs – vigil held for the popular musician outside of Remnant after he vanished amidst the catastrophic outbreak’, </em>the headline reads. His eyes scan over the article limply; it is sweet, and the outpouring of messages from his fans mixed into the report are strangely enough to soften some of the ache of this night. His voice had reached people’s hearts, after all.</p><p>But he isn’t dead. The login count is down by two since he had last seen it in Atlas Academy, but he still lives and breathes and <em>wants an escape. </em>For a moment, he wonders whether it would be useful to type a cry for help; that idea quickly dies, however, and he extinguishes that little flame of hope within himself before he allows it to take root. With shaking fingers, he types onto the holoscreen, ‘<em>None of this is coming through anymore, is it?’</em></p><p>“I think you’re right,” Clover replies after a moment.</p><p>He erases that line, then types, ‘<em>Though… you still hear me, don’t you?’</em></p><p>Starting, Clover splutters, “Of course! Of course I do, Songbird.”</p><p>‘<em>You’re all I have, Clover.’</em></p><p>“Qrow-“</p><p>He sucks in a shuddering breath, silencing the question about Yang which he knows Clover longs to ask. ‘<em>There has to be a way.’</em></p><p>“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Clover attempts to soothe him. It does not work. Clover does not know what lies ahead of them, after all.</p><p>Qrow is weary of this burden of knowledge.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next chapter will be another big sad so... be warned.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here's another big sad chapter y'all. So close to the end. Let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>‘Goodbye to Remnant,’ </em>reads the headline, ‘<em>a letter by Lisa Lavender’.</em></p><p>His eyes skim over the article; it is the last one, he thinks, which shall ever be published by the Daily Remnant. It is short to read- short, bittersweet, poignant, its message clear as day. He has logged out of the terminal and walked away before he has even finished registering its message.</p><p>
  <em>‘I’m leaving Remnant. See you all in the real world- in Patch. Perhaps we will all find some peace. Perhaps we can recover together.’</em>
</p><p>Qrow would have left a comment, but there are only two people left on the login counts still flickering on a few unprocessed billboards here and there. There is no point saying anything anymore in the comments section.</p><p>The bike is no longer waiting for them at the entrance of Amity. He shifts his grip onto the Harbinger’s hilt, readying himself for a long walk down, mustering whatever strength he can find within himself to keep going on foot. His gaze is drawn to look over to the city which he has called his own for so many years. Beacon is entirely made of black glass now. He can see his apartment building in the distance, although from where he could enter his home, he cannot even fathom a guess; his gaze swings over to beyond the cliffs, looking over the distance to see Vale down below. He cannot see its state- too much smoke and Grimm ash clog the air, blocking his view- but he doubts that it has fared any better.</p><p>Suddenly, Clover begins to cough. Qrow pauses, tapping the clock face. <em>Are you alright?</em></p><p>“You’re still here, Qrow,” Clover whispers in response, words coming out in an odd lisp that causes Qrow’s heart to sink to the floor. “You’re still there, I’m still here, you’re still there, I’m still here-“</p><p>Fear races up his spine, causing Qrow to break into a jog. <em>No- no, I took it down already, why is he-</em></p><p>“We make… quite a team,” Clover giggles, that lisp turning back into drunken slurring, his tone softening, lightening, in the most bone-chilling manner possible. “The Circle did quite a number on us, eh? But look at us, babe, look…”</p><p><em>Gods, no, I can’t do this again, </em>Qrow thinks as he breaks into a sprint, cutting through Grimm which appear to block his path without hesitation. <em>I can’t do this again. Clover, you can’t do this- I can’t lose you-</em></p><p>But his clock face is tinting red once more, his words sounding like those of a belligerent drunk as he hollers at the shadowy, horrifying figure of a roaring Ursa which lunges out at Qrow. “Shut the <em>fuck up, </em>man, I’m tryna have like, one moment with ol’ Birdie here…”</p><p>Qrow can sense the incoming spines before he sees them, ducking over to the side of the path as a giant, spiked tail smashes through the obsidian, processed walkways upon which he runs, the beating wings of another Grimm Wyvern stalking him from where it had clearly been hiding atop Amity. His lungs burn with the mere memory of his escape from this creature across Mantle and Atlas.</p><p>Clover, however, is completely unaware of the pure fear and adrenaline fueling Qrow’s broken, battered body. “Yanno, Qrow- heh, that’s a rhyme, wouldja lookit that- but, everyone n’ everything’ll all just be some little black dusts and lil’ specks of data, right? Except for us, we’ll be okay, I guess…” He snickers as Qrow silently sobs, rushing down an alley as the building behind him is shattered to pieces by the giant monster hunting him down. Clover adds, “You’ll be okay, babe, dun worry, you’re too pretty to be a lil’ speck.”</p><p>He rushes past a building with an unprocessed holoscreen sign; the words engrain themselves into his mind with zero effort, that fact almost comical as he registers their meaning. ‘<em>A Simple Wok is unavailable at the moment. Please try another day!’</em></p><p>The body he can see through the window of the restaurant explains the cause. He keeps running.</p><p>Clover is not finished with his babbling, however, the sound sickening amidst the chaos around Qrow as he desperately makes his way towards the crossroads upon the cliff side. “Will I ever see you again?” Clover breathes, suddenly sounding far weepier than he has all night. “Face to face? I like ta wonder, yanno… you n’ me, hand in hand, we watch everything wash away together, right? Right? Right? Hey, Qrow, that’s right, right?” Suddenly, Clover gasps dramatically. “Wait, where’s our beautiful bike?”</p><p>His question is answered as Qrow finally turns the corner. Somehow, Yang’s old bike is waiting here, parked amidst a sea of broken cars and motorcycles which have all been processed into smooth planes and angles of darkness. Qrow gasps for air as he realizes just where they are, just where this three-pronged path could take them.</p><p>These are the crossroads. From here, they could leave Remnant. They could get away.</p><p>Or, if he takes the road down the cliffs…</p><p>“<em>If we can get to the highway,” </em>Clover had said in Atlas, “<em>we can skip town.”</em></p><p>He is too scared to choose- no, he is too scared to accept that his answer had been decided upon from the start, from the moment he had met Winter and understood the gravity of this mess.</p><p>His one solace is Yang’s bike, the yellow and black vehicle standing out amidst the flames and destruction surrounded by cool, lifeless obsidian. “Damn,” Clover whistles softly. “This bike deserves some kind of reward, not to get wiped out like all its lil’ bike friends.” His words are teasing, still slurring together and tipsy.</p><p>Qrow does not smile. He has little hope.</p><p>A painfully-familiar cry of anger comes from behind. The Harbinger is raised, extended and pointed at the speaker before he has even fully turned around; once he is able to see the figure which has begun to stalk towards him, however, his aim wavers, grip weakening, one hand scrabbling for the seat of this bike before he can collapse completely.</p><p>There is only one feature upon this creature which has not been fully processed: a mane of fiery, golden hair. He knows that hair, if not the smooth black glassy mask which peeks out from underneath it. The Grimm-like figure raises fists covered in external bone, its speed picking up as it approaches Qrow down the road.</p><p><em>Even the Grimm couldn’t process your hair, firecracker, </em>he thinks numbly as his trigger finger gets to work, his eyes locked on those blonde waves which he has lovingly brushed an infinite amount of times over the past twenty years. <em>Even they couldn’t put your fire out.</em></p><p>Yang Xiao Long has always been the best boxer he had ever seen, after all. Even better than her old man. Taiyang would’ve been proud- although maybe not so much of her temper, the girl always tending to lash out whenever things didn’t go her way.</p><p>No wonder she comes after him for touching her precious bike.</p><p>She doesn’t get the chance to let those bone gauntlets touch him, however, for her body is riddled with gunshot holes before she can get halfway to him. His mind logically begs him to run to her crumpling form, to stab the Harbinger into her chest, to download whatever he can salvage of his older niece, but…</p><p>…her body is already naught but ash by the time he is ready to run forward, the only trace of her fire remaining the pool of Tar in her wake.</p><p>
  <em>…is this the end goal of processing? Assimilation? </em>
</p><p>He swallows thickly, but he has nothing left to cry. What can he do?</p><p>Still, he steps forward. He reaches the puddle remaining. He allows the Harbinger to rest in the pool, a sigh of relief slipping through his lips as the blade, the <em>world, </em>lights up. Then the fires consume his vision again, and the download is completed.</p><p>Clover does not react to Yang’s supposed presence, though.</p><p>For a long moment, he rests his forehead against the dash of the bike. Then, he straightens up, settling into the seat of the small motorcycle and turning it on, revving the engine gingerly to ensure it still works. Luck has not failed him on this end, however; the bike roars to life in time with another roar from the dragon chasing him still.</p><p>“Hey Qrow,” Clover slurs, “thanks for the lift.”</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t even realize what just happened.</em>
</p><p>Qrow doesn’t know which would be worse; bearing witness to what has just taken place, or forever being in the dark, which he shall allow Clover to be. Clover does not need to imagine what Qrow has just done to their little girl.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Chapter 29</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>update 4 today, the rest will come another day most likely in one (angsty) fell swoop!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Just how easily Clover’s voice can cut through anything else in Qrow’s mind will always be fascinating to the elder. The moment he begins to speak once they have gotten halfway down the side of the cliff’s leading back into Vale, Qrow’s thoughts, which had been drowned out by distant screeches and roars and the growling of Yang’s bike engine, focus solely upon Clover.</p><p>He sounds more coherent, more like himself, as he says, “Qrow… there’s another one of those dragons, I guess.” When Qrow hums in affirmation, Clover continues, “Well that’s stupid. There was only one statue. Not exactly a fair game if they can just make more of them.”</p><p>
  <em>Nothing about any of this is fair.</em>
</p><p>Clover sighs, then murmurs, “About what I said back there, about wanting to see you face-to-face… I want you to know I meant it.”</p><p><em>I know, </em>he thinks wearily.</p><p>“You’re everything to me, you know that, right?”</p><p>His lip trembles. <em>I know, Clo.</em></p><p>“I love you.”</p><p><em>I love you, too. </em>He spurs the bike on faster.</p><p>Once they arrive at the bottom, however, there is little they can do; familiar streets and well-known walkways are naught but Grimm ash and rancid, foul air and processed obsidian. The bike does not travel across the processed pathways very well, so he presses a kiss onto the dash out of a strange sense of sentimentality before he leaves it behind where he had found it at the depot at the foot of the cliffs before continuing on foot.</p><p>The Tar pools littering the streets are far larger, far deeper, than he remembers them to be. Not an inch of the homey, comfortable cobblestone which had been Vale’s trademark is left; instead, puddles of viscous black Tar run so deep that Grimm no longer appear through rifts in the air, but from the pools themselves, their white bone masks and glowing red eyes emerging from the blackness with such similarity to the Apathy that it makes Qrow tremble.</p><p>Retracing his steps is surprisingly easy, however. For some reason, the vast majority of the Grimm he sees do not interact with him; instead, they focus on spraying Tar upon unprocessed walls, consuming bodies still halfway-left to rot upon the sidewalks. It is as if Qrow is nothing anymore in Vale. It is as if he isn’t even here anymore.</p><p>He may as well not be. What even is the point?</p><p>Eventually, he turns the corner into the little walkway where he had found his poster earlier that night. His heart leaps into his throat as he sees a crowd of floating, ghostly Grimm peering up curiously at his visage still displayed proudly upon the wall; Clover murmurs exhaustedly, “They… I think they like you, Songbird. Why aren’t they processing your picture?”</p><p>The rest of this square is completely black, after all. Qrow shudders at the implications and runs past them without a sound. He is too tired to needlessly fight.</p><p>While most of the terminals no longer function, he manages to find one still glowing and active upon the side of the road a few blocks down. Surprised, he glances around; no Grimm seem to be paying him any mind, so he quickly trots over and unlocks it. Strangely enough, the CCTS terminal does not project the holoscreen when he taps his Scroll onto the scanner.</p><p>“Qrow,” Clover says, “try holding me up.”</p><p>Confused, Qrow lifts up the Harbinger’s clock face so that the scanner can read Clover’s faux visage. He jumps back slightly when the terminal somehow unlocks; a familiar vote appears onscreen, the sight of it enough to bring back a wave of bittersweet nostalgia.</p><p><em>It’s been less than twelve hours, and we’ve come so far, </em>he thinks in disbelief, <em>only to be back here?</em></p><p>‘<em>And what would YOU like Remnant’s beautiful morning weather to be today? Light rain or gentle snow?’</em></p><p>Clover’s chuckles sound painfully close to becoming sobs. “You know… I really love snow,” he whispers.</p><p>Qrow clicks that option wordlessly, but alarm bells begin to ring in his mind as he waits for the vote to be tallied. However, there is no vote. There are no numbers onscreen. The response message simply says, ‘<em>Affirmative’, </em>before the sky seems to glitch, and suddenly, there are tiny snowflakes kissing the tip of his nose despite the absolute carnage around them.</p><p><em>It’s not a vote, </em>he realizes dimly. <em>It’s a choice.</em></p><p>“…It’s beautiful,” Clover murmurs after a moment.</p><p>Qrow nods, slowly bringing the Harbinger up to his chest, clutching the clock face against his aching heart. <em>It used to be ours, </em>he thinks. <em>I mean- I guess in a way… it still is.</em></p><p>There is no joy in that thought, though. He is not James Ironwood; he never wanted this power.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Chapter 30</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My goal is to finish this fic today. Let's see how that goes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is a bittersweet find, to realize that she had passed so close to her work, just a few blocks away from the poster being admired by the Grimm; if it were not for the camera, Qrow likely would never have understood who this figure had been, but the data files read Velvet Scarlatina’s name when Clover combs through, trying to find any semblance of her soft-hearted, welcoming presence within the files.</p><p>There is nothing left. Not even the slimmest trace of her can be salvaged.</p><p>Coco is crying, Clover says. Qrow moves on. He has a different body for which he searches.</p><p>However, Qrow finds that as he returns to the back alleys where all of this began, back in this isolated part of Vale near the defunct passages and bridges to the Emerald Forest, the body he has in his sights is nowhere to be seen. He walks down the pathway, searching for the concrete barrier against which he had laid Clover’s slumped-over body to rest.</p><p>There is nothing but black glass.</p><p>“It’s okay, Qrow,” Clover breathes. He does not sound disappointed, merely rueful. “I had a feeling we’d come back to see this.”</p><p>Qrow lets out a long, haggard sigh, taking a moment to press his forehead against the clock face and close his eyes. <em>At least the dragon left us alone, </em>he thinks, relishing in the fact that Clover’s words spark green light with no tinge of red infection to be seen. <em>At least you’re in here with me.</em></p><p>Just past where Clover’s body had been, there is a short path which curves to the right. This area is naught but a tiny pier as of right now; no boats are docked there, the only signs of former life in the area belonging to the holoscreen billboard still broadcasting its message to this empty corner of Vale. ‘<em>Build a bridge to the Emerald City today! Plans are being drawn up by the famous Glynda Goodwitch. Cast your vote at a nearby terminal now!’</em></p><p>There is no bridge here. Without Glynda, he supposes there never will be one. In its place, however, is a small, strange terminal. If it were not for the fact that it is completely white, rather than inky black, he might have thought it was a Grimm with the way a shining, orb-like structure projects the visage of a young man- not more than a teen, he <em>cannot </em>be- upon its domed surface. Long tentacles keep the creature aloft so that this visage is held at eye level, allowing Qrow to scrutinize at a wary distance how golden, olive-tinged eyes widen knowingly at his arrival, a light smattering of freckles across warm almond skin barely visible with the static flickering across the image. A mop of dark hair is pushed out of the way, and the face finally opens his mouth, ready to speak.</p><p>Qrow wishes he wouldn’t. Although he does not know this child, he recognizes that look in this figure’s eyes, and he <em>hates himself </em>for not understanding earlier.</p><p>
  <em>…no wonder Ozpin went dark all those years ago. Guess he just couldn’t handle letting go of this world.</em>
</p><p>The young man speaks. “<em>This is Oscar Pine of the Circle, communicating via proxy</em>,” he says, his gentle, pubescent voice laced with a kind of wisdom Qrow can only attribute to the man he is thinking of. “<em>I am calling for a truce. See, I’d very much like for the Grimm to- well, stop doing what it’s doing, and my conjecture is that you’d very much like that too</em>.” Before Clover or Qrow can protest, he adds, “<em>Assuming I am right, then come along and we’ll sort this out</em>.” He snorts. “<em>Hey, we can sort this out. We always could, you and I</em>.” And with that, this proxy terminal turns around and heads off into the distance, following the road which would eventually lead to the bridge construction project.</p><p>Wordlessly, Qrow follows. Clover speaks enough for the two of them. “We’ll see about that,” he glowers under his breath. Pointedly at Qrow, he says, “You know him, Qrow? How do you know that kid? I never saw him once, and god, I haven’t left your side in how long-“</p><p><em>You wouldn’t know him, </em>Qrow longs to explain. <em>If I saw him on the street, I probably wouldn’t know him either, but… the fact that this kid was working with James proves who he is. </em>He lets out a weary sigh, tucking the Harbinger into his belt as he obediently follows this strange, eerie creature-like terminal down the road. <em>They say most people who enter Remnant choose to keep their real-life forms. It’s better for the brain to process everything that way. I guess not everyone did, though.</em></p><p>This kid, Oscar- or, Ozpin, as he used to be called- looked different back then. Back in Patch.</p><p>Although there are no Grimm in sight, the entirety of this pathway is blackened obsidian, reflecting the few lights which remain flickering from hanging, doomed streetlamps. The only other sources of light are the proxy terminal and a singular CCTS terminal stationed on the side of the road. The proxy pauses by the holoscreen, waiting for him; nodding stiffly, Qrow raises the Harbinger’s face to the scanner, finding the easy access to a terminal screen which displays naught but a description of the bridge project and a singular button prompt: ‘Initiate’.</p><p>Oscar chuckles, the tone twisting through the transmitter into something that seems far more sinister than the sixteen-year-old he appears to be. “What can the Harbinger do, you might be wondering? What can it <em>really</em> do? Well, um… it can build a bridge, for example. That’s something. People want a bridge to the Emerald City, so why not?”</p><p>Trembling, Qrow presses the button. Just like that, the world seems to light up just fifty yards down the road; where there had been nothing, the gridlines and cells of the world itself glow into visibility before more intricate details begin to be added, the square cubes bending and twisting into cobblestone sloping to a gentle arch, an iron-wrought, elegant railing on either side, benches lining the opening square, and colonnades which resemble those to which Qrow has already said farewell bordering the bridge proper.</p><p>“There,” Oscar breathes contentedly, his mannerisms far too sage for his youthful voice. “Have a beautiful new bridge. With the Harbinger, anything can happen.” He pauses, then adds, “I guess setting you up all those years ago in Beacon was the right choice, hm? You seem to want to use that architecture here. It’s pretty, for sure.”</p><p>
  <em>Shut up.</em>
</p><p>As if sensing his animosity, the proxy goes on ahead. Clover murmurs in awe, “You asked for it, and you got it, Qrow. This is… wow.”</p><p>Qrow wants to respond, wants to shake the Harbinger to instill some sense into Clover. How can he be remotely enraptured by what is going on? However, there is no time to protest, for the terminal is going far ahead, leaving him to chase after it with growing trepidation taking over his heart. His body recoils with every step he takes upon this bridge he himself has somehow created.</p><p>…a part of him wishes that the rose petals left in his wake would destroy this bridge, and not just the Grimm. How can he be missing the dragon, the Apathy, <em>anything </em>over this beautiful, simple bridge which has appeared upon his command?</p><p>He sighs, following after the proxy fearfully. The placid snowfall is beautiful in contrast to the dark stone. Clover made a good choice.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Chapter 31</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Update 2 of the day. This is probably the longest chapter in the whole fic. Just had to get all that word-vomit out somewhere, I suppose. Could I have split it up into multiple? Probably, but I figured it's all just one scene, so it might as well be altogether like this so that it'll fit within 34 chapters nicely. So uh... enjoy the evil monologue I guess.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beyond the bridge, Qrow takes his first steps into what is known geographically as the Emerald Forest, the Emerald City- the future construction project announced, then cancelled, then announced again by the City Council more times than anyone can count, thanks to the fickle votes of the public- and immediately, he wants to run away.</p><p>There is no green to mimic its namesake. The entirety of these walkways, these sidewalks, these battered, strange, unused buildings and archways and structures which have clearly not seen use in god knows how many moons, is black obsidian; blocks of the dark stone form the ground, the walls, every step of the way glistening with a fluid-like texture that makes Qrow recoil in fear. Each step looks to be drenched in Tar, promising nothing but more conflict.</p><p>And yet, the only sound which seems to exist in this blackened void of Remnant is Oscar’s voice echoing through the world through the proxy terminal. He seems calm, strangely so; his words are lilting, self-assured, as if this young man is merely explaining something to a child. Qrow’s grip around the corded handle of the Harbinger tightens with every syllable until he is quaking in rage, for although he does not know this voice, he knows each pause, each breath, each mannerism. It has been years since he has last heard them, but he cannot forget.</p><p>And now, if he survives this- whatever <em>this </em>is- he knows he never will forget these words, either.</p><p>“The Grimm can’t be stopped,” Oscar murmurs, the tentacles dragging this eerie terminal along the ground in a horrifyingly-smooth manner. “It can’t be stopped. However, the Grimm could be empowered to simply… go away. Take its business elsewhere. And we’ll be well enough alone, at the end of it all.” He chuckles, almost as if he is tittering. “As for the town, we’ll have ourselves a blank canvas, and as for the Harbinger, well… we’ll have ourselves a brush.”</p><p><em>This isn’t a fucking art project. </em>Red eyes peek out from around a corner. Without hesitation, Qrow unfurls the blade, not missing a beat in his gait as he shoots and slices and rends flesh to pieces, leaving behind Grimm ash and more pools of Tar which become one with the already-processed world. There is no more patience in his heart for these battles- not when this child is so comfortably floating along in front of him.</p><p>Clover sighs, the sound leaden in Qrow’s heart. “This kid- I don’t understand where he’s taking us, Qrow. I don’t like this,” he says. “Where’re we supposed to- oh.”</p><p>His words are cut off by the terminal pausing by a doorway, turning around and waiting for Qrow to catch up. As the Singer steps forward, flicking Tar off the blade clutched tightly in his grip, Oscar comments airily, “Trying times- very trying times, these days. James and Glynda are gone, huh?”</p><p>For a heartbeat, Qrow almost feels sorry for this creature; that sentiment vanishes almost immediately as Oscar continues, “Gone ahead without me now, haven’t they? Well. I suppose it’s just you and me now, isn’t it. You and me and the Harbinger- or, the Harbingers, I suppose.”</p><p><em>…there’s more than one? </em>There is not a lick of remorse in Oscar’s voice, merely resignation, acceptance. <em>If they were working with you, weren’t you comrades?</em> Anger burns beneath Qrow’s bruised, battered skin as his mind fights to wrap around these careless phrases. <em>How- if they trusted you, then how can you be so cold about all of this?</em></p><p>This isn’t the person he used to know, he realizes dimly, trailing after the proxy terminal. The man he used to know had been his idol. This… he knows it is the same person, but the years have changed him, just as they have changed Qrow.</p><p>“Step through this door,” Oscar murmurs. “Come now. More to go.”</p><p>Gulping, Qrow does-</p><p>And when he opens his eyes, he is upside-down, feet attached to the ceiling above the very doorframe he had been standing in front of.</p><p>Clover audibly starts, stops, then starts again. “…Yeah… I got nothing,” he mumbles, clearly baffled.</p><p>There is no sense of vertigo, however; and when he watches the creature-like proxy slither through the door, coming out onto the ceiling behind him, Qrow can only press his lips together and follow along, pushing out all sense of reason from his mind. There is no point in pretending that the world makes any modicum of sense.</p><p>Oscar is still philosophizing dreamily as he floats along via the proxy, completely unaffected by the strange shift in gravity. “We had a saying which goes, ‘when everything changes nothing changes’. But all this- this isn’t what we had in mind. You’ve probably figured that much out yourself, though. You’ve gone quite a bit farther than I think anyone could have expected tonight. I’m honestly quite impressed; watching you go tonight was a joy.”</p><p><em>You… just watched?</em> He does not know why he is surprised, and yet, the thought still makes him want to vomit. He has wept and screamed and been shattered over and over again this night, and this boy-man-monster just… watched?</p><p>Oscar clearly does not see anything wrong with it. “The Grimm is just doing a job. Doing <em>its</em> job, though I much preferred it when the Grimm did <em>mine</em>. I should have realized it was growing powerful when it started taking the form of- well… when it started resembling some old friends of mine, I should say.” He chuckles, the sound soulless through the monitor. “You met her- what the Grimm made of her, I suppose. She didn’t bother you much, though. She likes to focus on me.”</p><p>Qrow does not understand, but it seems that Clover does. “…the Grimm saved as ‘Salem’,” he whispers after a moment of searching. “After the Circle became more involved- after Winter, we never saw it again.”</p><p><em>…no wonder that name was familiar, </em>he realizes in growing disgust. <em>Well. You deserve it, Oz.</em></p><p>Oscar’s proxy leads Qrow through another door which rights the world, bringing the group back onto firm ground once again without missing a beat in this broken, blackened world. “But our old friend James- I mean, I let him take a copy of the Harbinger’s program. I let him borrow it when he asked. He’s done so much for me over the years, as you know, and so I thought he would use it responsibly. You probably would’ve used it responsibly, Qrow. You always were good at following instructions.” He sighs, rueful and mildly melancholic, the sound bringing bile up into Qrow’s throat. “And he- well, anyways, here we are.”</p><p>Qrow listens to these rambling, rhythm-less phrases, every pause and breath sending chills down his spine. He barely even notices the Grimm he cuts down as he walks; after hours upon hours of this conflict, it has become second nature to him once again. <em>Once a soldier</em>, he thinks brokenly, <em>always a soldier. I guess I always was better as a weapon. </em></p><p>Oscar- Oz, whoever this is- is perhaps right, after all.</p><p>Clover hums, “C’mon, Qrow. Just ignore him- we’re almost there.”</p><p>To his surprise, the terminal seems to perk up. Qrow doubts the terminal can hear what he is saying; it never reacts to Clover’s mumbled words of distaste, merely performing a monologue so endless it feels scripted. “We’re almost there. The Grimm don’t know their way in here yet, so we’ll have some peace and quiet.” With that, the terminal shuffles through another door, disappearing upon the other side.</p><p>Qrow brings the Harbinger up to his chest, pressing the clock face tight to his collarbone. <em>Let’s go, Clover, </em>he says silently as he steps into the light oozing out of the doorframe.</p><p>The world is illuminated for a long, long time, the ground disappearing under his feet. He cannot feel anything but the vaguest sensation of floating along, a feather carried upon the wind to its next destination; strangely enough, he does not fear this feeling of levity. It lifts some of the burden off his shoulders, after all.</p><p>From within his arms, Clover murmurs, “Everyone always said you can be anything you want in this town. This is it for me… being with you, I mean. I could get used to this.”</p><p>Qrow leans his forehead against the grip, a smile blossoming upon his lips despite himself. <em>Of course you’d say something like that in the middle of all this, </em>he thinks wryly, heart blooming with affection.</p><p>Too soon, however, this sentimental, light journey comes to an abrupt stop. Oscar’s face flickers upon the domed screen, tentacles continuing to crawl their way along the shimmering obsidian ground. “There’s these traces inside the Harbinger,” he announces airily, beckoning Qrow forward with a slight pause in the proxy’s movements, “that <em>were</em> people once upon a time, but now are not quite themselves, and they’re trapped.”</p><p><em>Yeah, I know, </em>he thinks bitterly. <em>What do you think we’ve been doing this entire night?</em></p><p>He does not push that idea further. He knows now who probably instilled this idea into James’ head- who had told him that people were naught but skills and talents to download and use with the Harbinger. He does not want to even remotely offer that vein of dialogue to this man he used to know.</p><p>Lightly, Oscar says, “No walls in there, mind you- they’re just there on their own. Listen close enough and maybe you can hear them. The ones you know, at least.”</p><p>“As if this joker understands what it’s truly like in here,” Clover grumbles bitterly. Those words cause guilt to nearly knock Qrow off his feet as he realizes that not once this night has he ever asked Clover if he is <em>alright </em>in the Harbinger. He has no idea what it’s like inside this strange program.</p><p>
  <em>Fucking Clo, just worrying about me this whole time, this goddamned idiot-</em>
</p><p>“He wants the Harbinger bad, huh? Whatever he sees in this place,” Clover continues, unaware of Qrow’s turmoil, “I don’t.”</p><p>Suddenly, another Grimm appears from a pool of Tar in the floor, its mask of gnashing teeth and bone sending spittle flying everywhere. Qrow makes quick work of it, his heart no longer even reacting to the monsters’ appearances, for his mind is far too occupied as Oscar carries on without a care in the world. “Whenever people make change, you see, whether to the sea, or the sky, or anywhere in between, the Grimm does the real work. Invisible, behind the scenes. Well I say whoever does the real work ought to get the credit. So I found a way to put the Grimm center stage, to keep the Grimm working in concert, in harmony.”</p><p>Qrow doesn’t even care to wrap his mind around that confession- that it is the Grimm who is responsible for building their world the way they do, that it is the Grimm who is responsible for implementing the changes in this perfect utopia that had once been Remnant. How can these monsters be anything but an infection, a plague?</p><p>Clover feels similarly, it seems. “Enough with the history,” Clover growls, “I don’t like it here.”</p><p>“The Harbinger… I have no idea what’s inside it really, or who, or what. I’m not keen to be data. I’ve seen inside it, just once- had myself a little look. Didn’t see much. It was like… staring at the sky. Do you remember what it looked like, Qrow? In the real world?”</p><p>He does. He hates that even now, he misses that memory- of skies unchangeable by the whims of man.</p><p>He hasn’t seen it since Ozpin gave him and his nieces that way out- that way <em>in.</em></p><p>“Where I found the Harbinger or why… why, I found it on a lark. Right around here, geographically speaking.” His voice lowers, oddly menacing for someone so young. “Sometimes I think I didn’t find it at all- I wasn’t myself when I found it, after all. Maybe it wanted to be found, so it was looking for someone like me.”</p><p><em>Someone who wouldn’t say no. </em>Horror floods his veins, drowning out every other thought. <em>Someone who was probably missing having the power he once had. Someone eager to be somebody again in this new world, where we can be anything- where none of us are anything.</em></p><p>It does not matter what he thinks, it seems. Oscar guides them down a darkened corridor into a large, cavernous room, the end of which is nowhere to be seen. The only thing Qrow can see glowing in the distance is a small white light, a glow breaking up the inky darkness. Based on the proxy terminal’s trajectory, this light is their new goal. “Welcome into my studio,” Oscar murmurs, two tentacles lifting to resemble arms wide open, proclaiming the darkness before them as his own with pride. “We’re relatively safe in here, at least for now.”</p><p>Qrow’s blood runs cold, but it is Clover who puts those words into the ether, forming them into reality. “’For now’?”</p><p>The terminal is silent for a few minutes while they move forward, heading deeper and deeper into this abyss. Once the light grows big enough to actually hold shape, to hold some clarity, Oscar finally responds. “Here’s the thing, now; if the Harbinger doesn’t go back in its cradle, then you and I both, well… we just won’t be anything anymore in a little while. You, me, and the rest of this town. It runs solely because there is a singular Harbinger plugged in, controlling it all, and right now, that isn’t entirely the case, thanks to the little copy OS you’re wielding. It’s bugging the entire system.” He sighs, almost apologetic as the terminal continues moving away, the screen turning around so that Qrow can stare at large, mournful eyes pleading, “So. Please. Don’t let my work go to waste.” His voice drops, growing a touch dark, menacing, although the look of innocence does not fade. “I’m being reasonable.”</p><p>They are in front of the light. Oscar gives Qrow one final smile through the monitor, then walks towards it; it is a port dug into the floor, it seems. A docking port.</p><p>It is the same size as the Harbinger’s blade. It is clear what must be done.</p><p>“This is it then,” Clover breathes. “You know what you have to do.”</p><p>
  <em>Yeah. We have to put an end to this. He said that his actions caused this- I guess it’s become our job to finish it.</em>
</p><p>“Look, no matter what happens, just…” Clover lets out a long shuddering sigh, the sound so broken and mournful that Qrow can only gather the blade up in his arms, holding the Harbinger against his chest, feeling his heartbeat thudding against his ribcage and reverberating through cold metal, through ticking clock hands. “I’ll try and keep everyone together in here. I won’t let us disappear. And…”</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, Clo?</em>
</p><p>The voice which curls in his ear is like <em>home. </em>“I love you, Qrow Branwen. You know that, right?”</p><p><em>More than anything, </em>he thinks. <em>You gave me my second chance at life. It wasn’t Oz- it’s wasn’t anyone else. It was you.</em></p><p>It always has been only Clover.</p><p>“Okay. It’s time.” There is a strange finality that is so familiar, so loving, in Clover’s tone; it rings the same way his voice has countless times before. Qrow knows this voice. He had heard it time and time again before every single one of his performances, standing backstage with thick, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, the same words whispered in his ear. “Bye for now, but I will see you again. I will see you again-“</p><p>He puts the Harbinger into the glowing slot upon the floor, and the world disappears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Chapter 32</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here it is- the final confrontation. Update 3 of the day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In a world full of naught but light, it is Clover’s voice that brings him back to awareness. “I know you can hear me, Songbird. I won’t let you go. Stay with me. Stay with me.”</p><p>
  <em>Thanks, Clover.</em>
</p><p>He opens his eyes.</p><p>The first thing which strikes him is the sky. It is strangely familiar- vast, endless, limitless, tinging a myriad of colours as it creeps up from the horizon line, manifesting from warm, earthy oranges to soft corals, burning yellows to the thinnest hint of leaf green, until it turns blue overhead, the expanse breathtaking in its scope.</p><p>It is a welcoming sight after hours of seeing a world throttled by flames and smoke and ash. Colours make him almost feel <em>alive.</em></p><p>He takes in a deep breath. The air is clear, his lungs expanding with delicious, crisp oxygen; he exhales, feeling some of the ache in his bones, his body, his heart, disappear. It’s a lovely sensation, to breathe easy for the first time in what feels like days.</p><p>Then, he looks down.</p><p>The Harbinger is in his hand. “Hey, Qrow,” Clover whispers. “Feelin’ better?”</p><p><em>…yeah. </em>It is not just the environment which fills him with this sense of ease. The world itself seems to be <em>right </em>again, although he does not know how to explain it.</p><p>“You made it, Qrow. It’s good to see you again.”</p><p>Any sense of ease vanishes in a heartbeat as a familiar voice, one not belonging to a young Oscar Pine, fills the air. Qrow bolts to his feet, blade clutched in his hands, body thrumming with adrenaline, ready to fight.</p><p>The figure standing before him is indeed different from young Oscar- or, at the very least, the guise of Oscar which Ozpin has been clearly using this entire time. The tall, calm, white-haired man standing fifty feet away smiles gently at him over a pair of thin, wire-rimmed circular sunglasses, a genial, calming smile on his face. He is dressed in familiar clothes- the man was always a little too cold, Qrow remembers, making this jacket and turtleneck the perfect combination for him- although the colours contrast starkly with the earthy tones of sand beneath their feet, peachy-yellows never quite matching with the man’s dark ensemble.</p><p>He holds a cane in his hands. It is simple, silver and black with green trim; however, Qrow can see even at this distance the clock face which sits upon the hilt of this cane. <em>That’s… the original Harbinger, then, </em>he thinks faintly. <em>That’s what Oz found, the thing that controls the Grimm. </em></p><p>“The Harbinger manifests to match the wielder, you see,” Ozpin calls across the sand, his low, soothing voice melodic and at ease. “Whoever is programmed as the user shapes the world, including the physical form of the blade.”</p><p>He snorts silently. <em>I wonder how it figured out how to mimic his late wife, though. He deserves it. </em>Then, he sighs, his former exhaustion crashing into him yet again. <em>…so this isn’t the real world then, huh. </em>Qrow lifts his chin, looking up into the sky; directly above him, he sees what his excitement had failed to notice earlier: a thin line running across the midpoint of the sky, marking the gridlines which are surely hidden underneath textures and patches and data.</p><p>“But,” Ozpin continues lightly, “we can’t have two users wandering around with the power to change everything, you know. As I told you, having two Harbingers causes the Grimm to get a little… antsy.”</p><p>Qrow bites his lip, then pulls out his Scroll, stabbing his Harbinger into the sand to hold it upright as he types. Frantically, he writes his question, then holds it up to the clock face for Clover to read aloud. “’Why’d you choose to look like a kid’, he’s asking,” Clover calls.</p><p>Ozpin sighs, the first shred of true remorse that Qrow has seen from the man all night playing across his face. “Oscar was… an unwanted casualty. From before Remnant, mind you. I didn’t want his life to be forgotten, so, I made my main avatar take on his form.” He smiles thin, wan. “It’s also far easier to live a full life when you don’t have baggage to haunt you, as you can imagine.”</p><p><em>You were my superior- James’ superior- in a senseless war in the real world. You were the one who gave me the ticket to Remnant after everyone else in our team was dead. </em>He grimaces, a sense of grief that feels almost childlike in its intensity, in its confusion, filling him up to the brim. <em>You were my hero, Oz. I only fought as long as I did for you. And when you gave me a ticket out, somewhere I could raise my girls away from their parents’ graves…</em></p><p>But Ozpin clearly has always been more of a coward than Qrow. He had just never realized it, he supposes bitterly. <em>You couldn’t live with what you ordered me to do, so you faked it all and ran here.</em></p><p>Ozpin shrugs. “It’s the past, Qrow.”</p><p>Qrow types, and Clover reads. “’Did you kill him?’”</p><p>Ozpin’s rueful smile fades slightly. “Now, now. This is our reunion, remember? Let’s not bring up the past, especially when I gave you everything you needed to rebuild your life.” His eyes crease, a sense of fondness projected so clearly that it makes Qrow want to heave. “After all, who introduced you to that man who keeps clinging to the Harbinger?”</p><p>Clover whispers, “I- no, he didn’t, I didn’t know this guy nor the kid- I just… I responded to an ad on my Scroll feed, remember-“</p><p>“Who controls those?” Ozpin taps his cane upon the sand as if to prove his point.</p><p>Clover does not respond.</p><p>Hot tears blur his vision, and Qrow barks out a silent, coarse laugh as he realizes just how twisted his old idol has become- as he realizes the bitter truth of this night. Clover swallows thickly and clears his throat, reading aloud Qrow’s next words with a shaking voice. “’You’re saying that you did everything to restore some kind of control to this world, is that it? The point of Remnant was to have no more conflict- to end it all, to let the people decide. Stripping them of those rights wasn’t your decision, and you- you <em>can’t</em> call killing a <em>child</em> the past if you did the exact same fucking thing today, Oz. If you were watching everything that happened, you saw what happened to my little girls’-“ and Clover pauses, lowering his voice to whisper, “-wait, Qrow, <em>‘girls’</em>? Do you know what happened to Yang?!”</p><p>It stings as if he has been slapped in the face when Ozpin sighs, shaking his head. “They fell when they needed to. If they weren’t fast enough to flee, then the Grimm did its job. We’ve been over this,” he says with the patient affectation of a schoolteacher.</p><p>“’The only reason I came to Remnant was to raise them. You let them die.’” Clover sounds as if he is about to break.</p><p>“Yes,” Ozpin agrees gently. “And you raised them well. They’re still protecting you, even now, can’t you see? They’ve always loved their uncle. Or, I suppose, uncles, since you managed to find someone here who accepted you, blood-covered hands and all-“</p><p>“He did everything under <em>your </em>command!” Clover cuts in suddenly. Qrow cannot help but smile in the face of that anger. <em>He understands who this is, I guess. </em>Then, Clover goes quiet for a moment, letting out a long, weary breath. “…I found Yang’s trace data. She’s not responding. Was it when I was out of it?”</p><p>He traces the hands upon the clock lovingly. <em>I’m sorry, Clover.</em></p><p>“Well, yes I <em>commanded </em>him, but we’ve seen how good commands go,” Ozpin says mournfully. “James used to be like that, too- and then, he stopped listening. Thought he could issue commands himself. It’s… sad, really. I guess there’s nothing better than doing things yourself.”</p><p>This callousness is baffling, stark and cold and horrifying despite the warmth his familiar visage emits. Qrow makes a decision. <em>We cannot let him have the Harbinger.</em></p><p>Ozpin stretches his arms high above his head, then lets them fall, raising his cane to point at Qrow. “Let’s see, the good news is that… well, the Grimm. I think we got it- contained it. So, the town is going to be alright. It’s just… well… someone’s going to have to rebuild. But we flew a little close to the flame there, and now, we’re here,” and he taps on the clock face of his cane, “not there, in town. We’re stuck. And unfortunately the only way back that I’m aware of is, unpleasant.”</p><p>Even at a distance, Qrow can see the shift in his stance. He was trained by that stance, once upon a time, after all.</p><p>“So,” Ozpin trails off, “let’s… get this over with.”</p><p>The battle is a long one. Qrow’s mind shuts off halfway through, his body moving through motions which are so practiced that he almost wants to laugh; if Ozpin had deigned to fight him at the start of this mess, then perhaps he would have had the upper hand. With hours upon hours of rigorous practice against the Grimm, however, Qrow’s skills have been restored, even slightly, to their former glory. He always has been an effective weapon.</p><p>There is a grim sense of satisfaction which blooms across his chest as he realizes just what- or, more accurately, <em>who- </em>is striking blow after blow against this man he used to trust with his life. Coco’s bullets aim true. Blake’s speed dodges every attack. Bartholomew’s fire, Jaune’s strength, Winter’s edge, Peter’s strike- every single person whom he has downloaded over the course of this godforsaken journey seems to cry in tandem, aiding Qrow in throwing everything he has into each swing against Ozpin, the perpetrator behind the destruction of their home.</p><p>The sight of Ruby’s explosive petals shattering his glasses is the most fulfilling thing Qrow has ever seen.</p><p>And throughout it all, Clover is <em>there. </em>He does not talk to Ozpin, only to Qrow- with each dodge, with each strike, Clover merely murmurs, “We’re almost there, Qrow. We’re almost free.”</p><p>And finally, it seems that that mantra rings true. Qrow’s Harbinger slides through Ozpin’s chest with a sickening motion, crushing bone and shattering his heart; he pulls it away noisily, allowing the figure to slump to the floor. “Impossible,” Ozpin gasps, scrabbling to hold onto a cane which rises into the air, slipping out of his grasp completely out of his will. “No, no, it’s can’t be, god, please don’t be gone, please don’t-“</p><p><em>It’s over, </em>Qrow thinks.</p><p>He is getting sick of these lights consuming the world. He does not have it within himself to feel gleeful or giddy at his victory, ignoring Ozpin’s frantic cries as the noise is drowned out by nothingness, his data being processed into… something. Qrow is too empty, too hollowed out and cold, to care anymore. He just wants to rest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Chapter 33</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>After this, only one more chapter left- only the epilogue. We did it.</p><p>CW: please ensure you've read all the tags for this fic before choosing to read this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bridge has been processed in his absence, he realizes faintly as he opens his eyes once again. He recognizes the skyline in the distance, situating him back at the docks of Vale, but the bridge itself is naught but obsidian cubes now.</p><p>The ringing in his ears, the tingling in his skin, finally begins to fade as he hears Clover’s voice, sees the green tinge of Clover’s words, reflecting off the glassy surfaces around them. “We got away, Qrow,” he breathes in awe. “We… we actually got away.” He sighs, haggard, worn. “Now you’re here. And me. And that’s it.”</p><p><em>And everyone else, I guess. </em>Qrow closes his eyes and places his forehead against the hilt, embracing that silence, that darkness, that the Harbinger bestows upon him as the world comes to a halt. <em>Thank you, everyone.</em></p><p>Tottering to his feet, he looks over to the large piles of smooth rock staring down at him. When the bridge had been built, these had been statues, he realizes faintly- it could not have been more than an hour earlier. He glances around, seeing no Grimm in sight, the plumes of smoke in the distance having finally died down, leaving behind nothing but that gentle snowfall which they had initiated maybe two hours before. <em>I guess… they want us to rebuild, so they backed off. The Grimm are gone now. </em></p><p>Approaching one of the statues, he closes his eyes, raising the blade and striking the stone. It does not bounce off; instead, the blade sinks into this strange material, the stone transforming into Tar, melting away. He does not fear this phenomenon. Instead, he merely keeps his eyes closed, envisions the statues which had been there before, and hums.</p><p>“…that’s my song,” Clover says when Qrow extricates the blade from the pile of Tar. “That’s not exactly a good building song, Qrow, c’mon. Something a little more epic would be nice, right?”</p><p><em>But you wrote it for me. And this world is ours now. </em>Opening his eyes, Qrow looks up, watching the Tar dry up in the blink of an eye, leaving behind a brilliant carving of a winged figure holding a hand outstretched to the other side of the bridge.</p><p>It is beautiful.</p><p>“Look at this- this whole town,” Clover says softly, understanding dawning in his voice. “I… guess it’s yours now. A blank canvas, and you’re the one who still has the brush. Better you than the Circle, I guess.” He chuckles dryly, although there is little strength behind it. “So, where do you wanna start? Head back to your place in Beacon? Fix up Vale? All the canals? A Simple Wok? What’re you thinking?”</p><p>Qrow keeps humming the same melody. Clover insists, “Okay, c’mon now, you’ve written better songs. Let’s go.”</p><p>
  <em>This one always helps me sleep. It always takes me back to you.</em>
</p><p>So, Qrow hums Clover’s song to Qrow. Qrow hums and hums, stabbing the Harbinger into every single pool of Tar he sees until the bridge and walkway and dock is transformed into a resplendent, welcoming path, crisp and clean and ready for humans to walk across it all once more. He fixes light posts and recodes doorways, righting signage and removing that godawful proposal to construct a bridge to the Emerald Forest. Soon, the air is lit up by gentle, twinkling lights, the atmosphere soft and sweet, almost <em>romantic</em> as waters that are no longer filled with Grimm ebb and flow against the side of the pier.</p><p>“Gods,” Clover laughs, nostalgia playing across his twinkling voice, “with the little fairy lights, this looks like that bar where I first saw you. This gruff old soldier, singing with the prettiest little drawl I had ever seen. You were beautiful back then, Qrow.” Qrow smiles through his fatigue, and Clover adds, “You still are, too.”</p><p>But there is one more thing Qrow needs to do upon this pier. So, he finds the nearest CCTS terminal and holds up the Harbinger, opening up access and typing onto the holoscreen his message for Clover. ‘<em>The people we’ve taken with us. Do they want to stay in there, or do they want to escape?’</em></p><p>“O-oh.” Clover takes a moment to think, carefully formulating his words before murmuring, “Qrow, I… I think the only escape would be…”</p><p>
  <em>Deletion. Got it. ‘If anyone wants to get out, now’s the time. And if you need to restore anyone’s corrupted data to ask, this is probably the best chance to do it.’</em>
</p><p>“…okay.”</p><p>Before his very eyes, Qrow watches as a list of names begin to roll across the holoscreen, one by one. His old friends disappear. His old coworkers disappear. The strangers who have hitched onto this terrifying journey disappear. He keeps a mental tally, watching each person, be it stranger or friend or foe, be removed from the Harbinger’s memory each time he clicks ‘permanently delete’.</p><p>No one would want to stay trapped within the inner cogs of a virtual reality program forever. He does not blame them.</p><p>Soon, there are only two files which have not been removed by their own volition from the Harbinger. The rest is gone- specks of data to be lost in time. Only two files and Clover, and Qrow, holding them all in his arms.</p><p>
  <em>Almost done.</em>
</p><p>He turns the corner, finding the processed black block where Clover’s body had been. Clover has continued to chatter about where they could possibly begin their cleanup of Remnant; however, as Qrow sinks the blade into the slab, he stops. “Oh. Look. Qrow, that’s not me- not anymore. I’m still with you.” He sighs, the green glow of the clock lighting up Qrow’s face as he hums, watching the processed block melt into Tar, leaving behind the image within Qrow’s mind. Clover continues, “But you know, I’m not getting out of here. But you’ll be fine, Qrow- I’m with you, always. You know that, right?”</p><p><em>I know. </em>His brow furrows together as the Tar melts away, finally revealing the figure he had said goodbye to earlier that night. Clover’s body has been perfectly preserved- the processing of his handsome visage has not altered the unabashed surge of want which rushes through his veins when he sees the man’s still, silent body.</p><p>
  <em>…I just wish that it was good enough.</em>
</p><p>He lifts the Harbinger to his chest, caressing it, holding it tight with as much tenderness as his trembling, terrified limbs can muster. If the Grimm listen to the Harbinger, and if being attacked by processed individuals brought back his voice-</p><p>If a simple breach of skin and bone can download him into the blade-</p><p>He does not want to be alone. He does not want to be a solitary person, when all he’s ever wanted is still within this blade.</p><p>His lips shake as he kisses the clock face before standing up straight. For a moment, he leans the blade down so he can unpin Clover’s pin from his lapel; he has kept it with him all this time, after all. He does not remove the jacket, though. Despite everything they’ve been through that night, it still holds some of Clover’s cologne. It is comforting.</p><p>“Hey, what’re you doing?” Clover asks, confused as he watches Qrow pin Clover’s lucky brooch back onto the lapel of his discarded body. “Wait. Wait, wait- what’re you doing?”</p><p>Qrow does not respond, sighing. He controls the Harbinger. He is its user. With this knowledge, he sits down, sinking his weight into a cold shoulder of the man he loves.</p><p>“Qrow?” Panic seeps into Clover’s helpless voice, unbridled, unrestrained, as horrified recognition sets in. “Qrow, don’t you do it- don’t you dare-“</p><p>Qrow lifts his hand, willing the Harbinger to rise, too. It obeys his command, just as he knew it would.</p><p>Clover begs, “Don’t do this, <em>please</em>. Please, Qrow, you can’t! If you do this…”</p><p>
  <em>I love you, Clo.</em>
</p><p>The voice screams desperately, “Qrow, please don’t. Wait-!”</p><p>Qrow clenches his fist, eyes snapping open as his empty Aura fails to protect him. It is surprising, just how little he feels- just how easy it is to snuggle into this shoulder as that cold begins to seep into his bones, too.</p><p>Clover screams, “Qrow, <em>please don’t make me do this</em>! Qrow- oh my god, what did he do- no no no no, Qrow, no, no-“</p><p>
  <em>See you soon, Clo.</em>
</p><p>The sound of Clover’s sobs fade into static-filled nothingness, the world lighting up as it downloads new, fresh data. Qrow does not mind, letting the pieces fall where they may. Clover’s always been great to cuddle with, though- he likes that part of this numbness.</p><p>And then, the sun begins to properly rise, the snow continues to gently fall, and the login count of the Protected Remnant Virtual Reality server turns to zero.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We did it. I did not expect to enjoy writing this fic as much as I have, but there has been this strange sense of catharsis in writing every single chapter of this. The worlds of RWBY and Transistor mesh frighteningly well, and the ability to make the villains someone other than Salem was immensely fun. This is not by any means a popular fic, but I've had a blast writing it, and I appreciate everyone who's taken the time to read it and leave comments! Cheers for engaging with this fun (accidentally long) project of mine XD</p><p>Enjoy the epilogue. It's short, sweet, and made me tear up a bit. Let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You… you really came.”</p><p>Qrow winces, opening his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings a little at a time as his brain finally adjusts to the intensity of the light shining through the air. A million and one sensations fill his mind, bombarding him with information so quickly he can barely adjust.</p><p>First and foremost though…</p><p>It is warm.</p><p>His fingers reach out, gentle at first before they scrabble at long, unruly grasses, shoots bending and snapping underneath his weight; he stands shakily, hearing stems crack as he moves about. He shifts his weight, oddly taken aback by the lack of pain in his bones. His hand flies up to his chest, to his throat, but there is no wound nor gash nor heartache to be found.</p><p>Once he is content with these quick examinations, a large, callused hand slips into his, squeezing gently, these fingers filling the spaces between Qrow’s without hesitation. They fit perfectly together.</p><p>Trembling, Qrow turns to the side to look at this figure who stands before him underneath golden rays. His free hand hesitantly reaches up, brushing soft, dun brown hair that is almost strawberry blond thanks to the sunlight out of jade eyes which stare directly into his heart. The man’s other hand catches his touch, turning Qrow’s palm inwards so he may press thin, wide lips against his skin. “Hi,” Clover breathes, his voice coming from these lips which Qrow has loved for years, not a sword nor clock face in sight.</p><p>Qrow takes in a deep, deep breath, eyes filling with tears, voice choking in his throat as he turns, finally registering the world around him. He wonders idly whether Clover has made it look like this for him; it is not the bleak, oppressive thing which he had seen with Ozpin.</p><p>
  <em>The user shapes the world.</em>
</p><p>He snorts. Perhaps this is what he has always truly wanted, after all. There is no animosity in that thought, however, for he finds that he does not mind the fact that when he lifts his chin upwards, he can see the tiles in the sky. He does not mind the fact that, if he is correct, he is simultaneously closer and farther than he could ever be to the graves he left behind all those years ago. He does not mind the fact that he can see the hurt in Clover’s eyes- that he knows that he has a lot of reparations to do after causing Clover the grief and heartache of striking that final, painful blow.</p><p>After all, they have time. They are within the Harbinger, but within this little world of theirs, they are standing in pre-war Patch, with a forest of green and a field of flowers and a sun of gold around them. There is the sound of the ocean’s waves gently splashing against the cliffs in the distance- perfect for Clover’s fishing, he thinks wryly- and the singing of larks in the air.</p><p>There is a cottage a hundred feet away, with the reconstituted, whole, <em>smiling </em>figures of his precious nieces standing in the doorway, holding their arms out in wait for him. They are here.</p><p>He sighs, moving closer to Clover, relishing in the sensation of strong, corded arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him not as a weapon, but as a <em>man. </em>He had been right to sing that song- to wear Clover’s pin- to not give up hope. Somehow… he’s found his way back home.</p><p>He smiles, kissing that pin on Clover’s lapel before looking up into creased, contented eyes which have never looked away from him, no matter what. The brooch on Clover’s lapel matches his eyes. It always has. It always will.</p><p>“...Hey there, lucky charm,” he breathes at last. He is home.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>-fin-</em>
  </strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And we're done! Follow me on <a href="https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> for new fics/art/podfics, or message me on Discord (fp#8010) if you're interested in joining a teeny general fandom server! I've also started a podcast recently which you can find <a href="https://anchor.fm/faulty-paragon/episodes/The-Good-Beans-Episode-1---Kingdom-Hearts-2-Eternal-Summer-Vacation-enjorh">here!</a></p><p>Here are my <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898392">other FG works!</a> I've got 500k of FG content alone, so take a look!</p><p><em>Other RWBY series:</em><br/>If you want to see more of Qrow in canon, check out my <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448095">Qrow Branwen-Centric Fic series!</a></p><p>Here are <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690948">AUs both set in canon and out</a> for RWBY. </p><p>If you want to stay completely within RWBY's canon, here is <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815229">another series of completely canon-compliant fics for you.</a></p><p>If you're looking for a long series in canon and like Team JNPR, here's a series that's a <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448071">rewrite of Vol. 1-6 through Pyrrha and Nora's eyes!</a></p><p>Cheers for reading, y'all! Let me know what you thought of this fic, and I'll see you around!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Leave a comment and let me know what you think :D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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